


Wilds and Vines

by a_dusky_gold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically Christmas Carol so whole lot of Dean's self-hate, Castiel/Meg Masters (past) - Freeform, Christmas Carol AU!, Everyone's a sorcerer, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hellhound!Crowley, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Magical Menagerie, Mentioned Castiel/Meg Masters, Modern Fantasy, Pegasus!Impala, Sorcerer!Castiel, Sorcerer!Dean, Urban Fantasy Setting, Werecat!Balthazar, Witch!Meg, Wonky magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 06:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12858471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_dusky_gold/pseuds/a_dusky_gold
Summary: The Christmas Carol AU that needed to be written, urban-fantasy style, only it isn't Christmas but Halloween, and the Ghosts of Christmases Past/Present/Future aren't so much ghosts as they are a menagerie. Featuring a snarky werecat!Balthazar,  annoyed hellhound!Crowley and a motherly Pegasus!Impala who just wants Dean to stop wallowing in self-pity and accept the love he has around him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> One more SPN reversebang, and this has been SO much fun! I've loved writing this fic, even through all the stressing about meeting deadlines (I'm flying in 5 hours to the other side of the world and I still haven't packed, but who gives a shit?). Thanks to [ iouii ](http://iouii.tumblr.com/) who made the AMAZING piece I claimed and inspired this baby! Show her some love, y'all! 
> 
> Thanks as always to my betas. Bee, Caramel and Cabbage, thanks you guys for sitting wimme, worldbuilding and writing essays on magic use, and for making sure I didn't lose it every half an hour. I love you. 
> 
> Warning - Despite the summary, I think this fic might have quite a bit of angst, simply because of the nature of Christmas Carol itself. It's self-introspection, and when it's Dean doing that introspection... things get a bit iffy, which is why I've tagged as best as I can and given chapter warnings. But if there's something I've missed or you think should be there, drop me a line here or on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for Dean's self-hate; canon-level angst.

**Chapter 1**

_The problem is,_ Dean thinks, _that Sam is a giant moose-girl who always wants to talk about his feelings._

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Samantha," he grunts into the mirror. "I'm fine. I'll be fine, I don't need you to play psychologist with me."

The image of Sam sighs, and for a moment, Dean wonders if it was a bad idea to use a scrying spell to talk to his brother. At least on the phone, he can't see the bitch-face or the way his expression falls. On the phone, he'll only have to deal with the sound of Sam's disappointment - seeing is believing and all that fuckin' jazz.

"Dean," ah there it is, the lowering timbre of his voice. Cue the pout and the narrowing hazel eyes. "Dean, you don't have to be alone today, man. Eileen and I _want_ you over, you know-"

"I'm not a charity case, Sammy," Dean retorts, maybe a bit too harshly. "And I'm fucking fine. Ain't like today's any different from another day."

"You've gotten drunk as a skunk every year for the past decade," Sam snaps. "You nearly blew up your shop last year because you couldn’t control your magic and if Cas hadn't taken away your wand, you'd have spelled yourself into imploding."

Dean flops on to the bed, ignoring his brother, who continues his annoyed rant.

"It's the anniversary of Mom's death. I geddit - you're grieving. I'm not telling you you shouldn't, I'm just askin' you to come home so we can do it together."

Guilt tightens his chest, cutting of the air-supply to his lungs and Dean rolls over to catch Sam's tired expression.

"I miss her too," he mutters. "You don't have to be alone today, please."

 _You miss the idea of her._ He doesn't wanna be mean, honest to god he doesn't, but it's the first thing that pops into his mind. Because, yes, Sam misses her, but Dean actually _remembers_ her, remembers how soft her hair was and how good her pie tasted, and no matter how much Sam wants to share the misery of losing that, he can't.

Which is why he shakes his head and rolls back on to his back, glaring up at the ceiling.

"Goodbye, Sam," he says firmly. "Go kiss your girlfriend and eat some damn pie. I'll see you next week."

"Dean-" Sam begins.

" _Bye_ , Sam," he stresses. His younger brother falls silent, and for a long moment, the only thing Dean hears is the sounds of Cas's many pets from their cages in the small menagerie downstairs. And then Sam sighs, waving his hand.

"Bye Dean," he whispers.

The connection blinks out. Dean rolls over to his belly, considering the mirror for a second, biting his lower lip, before flicking the tip of his wand at it. His end of the scrying spell cuts out too, and he _should_ feel a sense of victory at having gotten his brother to let it go, but his chest is tight and his stomach feels hollow and _fuck_ , when did he turn into this snivelling little teenage girl?

The brush of fur against his sock-clad foot distracts him and he catches a glimpse of black before a wet nose is bumping into his side. "Hey stop that," he grumbles. Balthazar ignores him, the little shit, and continues to rub his tiny head into Dean's waist. "Fucking kitty," he mutters, but lets the werecat purr against him. It doesn't matter that Dean is the sorcerer _allergic_ to cats; what Balthazar wants, Balthazar gets. He thanks his lucky stars that he renewed the allergy repellent spell last week because the way the werecat is rubbing against him right now, he’s damn near having an orgasm.

"He's just fond of you," Cas's rough baritone echoes around Dean's bedroom. He looks up to see his best friend.

"I thought _you_ were the one with an affinity for magical animals," he retorts, raising an eyebrow. "I'm the dumb hick who gardens, remember?"

"I would hardly call a degree in Herbal Alchemy dumb, Dean," Cas answers. "And if your conversation with Sam is any indication, you're wallowing right now, so I'm not engaging."

Dean grunts in response. He's not surprised that Cas overheard the conversation or that he's snarking right now; they've been friends far too long for him to pull back on his punches. "You headin' out?" he asks, eyeing the trench coat that hangs over Cas's arm and the way his wand-key is looped around his neck.

"Meg has invited me to her All Hallow's party," Cas says.

Dean feels as though he's been sucker-punched. Of course Cas is going to _Meg's_ party.

"I thought Halloween was two days ago," he snaps. "Wasn't she supposed to renew her powers or whatever?"

Cas pauses, those electric blue eyes narrowing in on Dean's face and he looks away, ashamed. It's not Cas's fault that he's a complete fuck-up who hates Meg. Cas deserves nice things and even if he doesn't recognize that witch's googly eyes for what they are, he deserves friends who aren't Dean.

"Halloween was two days ago," Cas hums, "And Meg and her coven are throwing a party tonight to celebrate the fact that their ceremony went well."

"You gonna be there all night?" Dean hates how pathetic he sounds.

Cas's gaze softens and he walks into the room to stand at the foot of the bed. Bending down, he picks up a still-meowing Balthazar and pets his head, all the while staring into Dean the way he always does.

And fuck, Dean won't ever admit it out loud, but his heart races at the intensity of Cas's expression.

"I'll return as soon as I can," he murmurs. "Dean, if you don't want me to go, I won't. I know how hard tonight is for you-"

"Go, Cas," Dean interrupts. "Just... _go_."

That's the crux of it, isn't it? Cas will do anything he asks, because Dean asked it of him. And that's exactly why Dean can't ask - he may be in love with his best friend, but Cas deserves so much more than what he can give him.

Cas sighs in defeat. "I brewed a Sleep Potion for you earlier today," he says. "I've left it on the table, next to the Hemlock on the table."

"Ya, whatever man."

Cas turns, about to leave, but lingers in the doorway, as though waiting for Dean to call him back, as though he wants to be stopped.

But Dean doesn't, of course. He doesn't even say anything, despite the way his belly churns, despite the way his eyes are burning, both from the memory of Mom and the fact that Cas is taking care of him, but he as usual, is being the dickwad who can't... who _won't..._

"Bye, Dean," Cas finally says and leaves, taking Balthazar with him. Dean can hear the damn kitty meow all the way down the hall, and he buries his face into his pillow, the tears coming quietly. He doesn't move even when he hears the loud pop in the air that announces Cas's departure; Meg's place is near enough that Cas can translocate there and _fuck_ , Dean could go after him right now, he should, but Cas deserves better and he's tired anyway.

It takes him about an hour after to finally stop the heaving and the crying like a baby. He pushes himself up wearily, knowing his eyes are puffy and swollen, and walks into the living room. His chest tightens at how empty it is. Sure, he can still hear Crowley's low growl and Samandriel's soft neigh from the menagerie, but neither the hellhound nor the unicorn can replace Cas, and it's all his fault that the sorcerer is gone.

Growling under his breath, he stomps over to the table, where his Hemlock is snoozing. Her leaves are shriveled up and growing tiny, so he sighs. Turning back to the kitchen, he yanks out the bottled sunlight and strides back to the table. He allows about two or three drops to fall on to her and watches as she swells up again, the dull sheen lighting up into a glossy green. A long, green tendril snaps at him playfully, wrapping itself around his wrist and he growls, shaking it off in an irritated manner.

"Knock it off," he snaps. Hemlock drops drops him immediately, shriveling up in response. Bobby would kick his ass for how he’s treating his Vines - _their magic is the source of this nursery, boy!_ \- but honestly, he’s too damn tired to care.

A meow distracts him and he sees Balthazar glaring at him from the couch. Rolling his eyes at the fact that the werecat is apparently admonishing him, he dumps the bottled sunlight on the table, when his gaze falls on the two mugs, sitting side-by-side on the table. Cas's mug is one of those damned poop-mugs that he'd gotten him as a gag gift but his own mug is a simple, straightforward green colored coffee-mug that has Cas had gifted him when he _finally_ graduated the Academy with a degree in Herbal Alchemy after dropping out halfway through and re-taking community college courses. The print on the front though, is that of a beautiful vine climbing its way up and down the entire mug, and it blinks at him, glowing a bright green, and his throat tightens at the sight.

Because Cas had _made_ this for him, with his own hands, using his _own_ magic.

He blinks at the sudden sight of vapor rising over Cas's mug - that's right, Cas said he'd made Sleeping Potion, didn't he?

Well, today already fucking sucks. He was going to drink himself into unconsciousness so he wouldn't have the same nightmares he's had for the past twenty years, but the potion will have the same effect without hurting him and he can tell Sam to shove that self-righteous look straight up his ass when he will inevitably come around to bitch at him tomorrow.

He grabs the poop mug and heads back to the couch, pushing Balthazar off of it. The werecat hisses and snarls, but Dean ignores him, throwing his legs over the supple leather and sinking into the many grandma cushions and blankets Cas insists on burying himself with. With a sigh, he brings the mug up to his nose and makes a face at the smell. He takes a sip and grimaces; he's had a few Sleeping Potions before, but this one is stronger than anything he's ever tasted. There's a hint of nutmeg and clove and cinnamon though, to balance out the icky burn of the potion itself, and he knows it's Cas's doing.

Without allowing himself to consider too deeply what that means - that Cas has always been taking care of him, for as long as he could remember - he takes another swig from the mug, draining half of it. It's almost as bad as alcohol, burning its way down his throat and he can feel the weight of it settle in his stomach like acid. He doesn't pause, however, bringing the mug back to his lips and downing the rest of the potion, welcoming the sudden almost-pain, welcoming the choking breath he struggles to take, welcoming the way his lungs seem to fall in on themselves and the way his vision darkens.

The smell of Cas fills his nostrils - of rain and thunderstorms and pine - and his hand shoots out to weakly grab the hissing werecat as Balthazar jumps on to his lap. Sharp pain erupts on his thighs as the damn kitty claws at him, but he can't _breathe_ , he can't _see_ , he can't do _anything_ -

The last thing he remembers is a pair of startling blue eyes - exactly like that of the man he loves - that peer out at him from a dark, feline face.

And then, Dean is lost to the world.


	2. Nightmares of Halloweens Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the end of the chapter.

**Chapter 2**

The world comes back to him in a slow-motion picture, each frame blown up to the point of making him dizzy. Dean opens his eyes carefully, feeling as though a gremlin is pounding at his head. It takes him a moment to blink the tears out of his eyes and focus on where he is, but when he does recognize the room in front of him, he freezes, the blood in his veins freezing to an icy chill that refuses to fade. 

"Dean," Mary calls, her voice melodic and soft. "Lunch is ready." Her long hair flows down the side of her face like woven golden straw, and green eyes -  _ his  _ eyes - twinkle down at the pot she's stirring in a kitchen he hasn't seen since he was four years old. 

"Mom," he whispers. He can't breathe again, his stomach feels like it's on fire, and his feet are tied to the ground, but he wants to reach out to her, to pull her into his embrace, to bury his face in her shoulder and never let her go.  _ "Mom."  _

He moves on autopilot, trying to touch her - his hand passes right through her, as though she's immaterial and he yelps loudly. 

"Can't touch her, you moron, this is a memory." 

Dean whirls around to see a familiar figure padding across the floor. Balthazar huffs, nimbly jumping up on to the kitchen counter before him, sniffing at the pot before turning back to look at Dean, who stares at him confusedly. 

"What?" he stammers. 

Dean's never heard a cat sigh before, but the mewling sound Balthazar makes sounds exactly like that. 

"You. Are. In. A. Memory," he says, deliberately sounding out each word. "Idiot." 

"Baz?" Dean's eyes widen. "You-what-" he whirls back around, heart racing, only to see a familiar four-year old form amble out of the living room and into the kitchen to throw himself at Mary's legs. She laughs and picks up the boy, and it's the expression on her face - so full of joy and love - that makes it sink in. 

This is his memory. That's mom, but that little boy she's holding... it's  _ him _ . 

"A memory?" he whispers. And if his voice breaks a little, Balthazar's tail only twitches. "How the fuck did this happen?" 

"Don't look at me," the werecat's long tongue darts out as he begins to clean himself as though nothing unusual is happening. "You're the sorcerer." 

"And since when can you talk?" he snaps. 

A hypnotic blue gaze fixes itself on him, exactly like that of Cas's. It reminds Dean that no matter how catty Balthazar acts, he's not a house-kitty; he's the first ever Creature Cas rescued and nursed back to health. Cas hasn't yet come out and told Dean, but if the way Baz's eyes match that of his master is any indication, he has a new Familiar. 

And he's fucking pathetic that he's so jealous of both Cas and Balthazar; of Cas, because he's been training in sorcery just as long as Cas has and of course the elder sorcerer found his Familiar first, even if it’s Dean’s own fault that he can’t commit to a Familiar right now. But he's more jealous of Baz, because fuck,  _ he  _ wants to be that close to Cas. 

Yeah, he's pathetic. 

"I'm not just a cat, Dean," Balthazar retorts. "And you need to stop bloody wallowing and look around you." 

"What're you talkin' about?" 

The werecat's tail swishes in a manner Dean knows indicates his annoyance. " _ Look _ , Dean," he insists. 

And Dean turns to look as directed. 

He sees himself, hanging off of Mom's every word as she laughs and ruffles his hair before setting him down to turn back to the crockpot on the stove. Dean's throat tightens, his palms clammy with sweat with the way he keeps clenching and unclenching them. 

"Mom, mom!" his four-year old self cries. "Can I have some pie?" 

Mary rolls her eyes, but winks at him and points to the chair. "Sit," she says. "After you eat." 

"Promise?" he bites his lip. The sound of a soft cry interrupts both of them and they turn around in the direction of the living room. Mary sighs, huffing as she yanks off her oven-mitts, dropping a quick kiss on baby Dean's forehead and walking out of the kitchen. 

"Sam," Dean breathes, knowing what's coming even before she returns, holding a blue bundle in her arms. Young Dean grins up at his baby brother, but Dean ignores himself and looks up at Mary instead. 

" _ Look _ , Dean," Balthazar's voice echoes a second time, and fuck, he doesn't know  _ why  _ Cas's werecat has a British accent or that imperious tone, but it's enough to force Dean to see what he's been missing all these years. 

Mary looks  _ tired _ . The expression on her face is that of utter exhaustion, not joy, as she walks back to the counter to check on the crockpot. 

"Sammy!" young Dean cheers. 

The smile that Mom's lips curve into is sardonic, now that Dean can see it close up. 

"Mom, can Sammy and I have pie?" 

"After you eat," Mom grunts. Sam chooses that moment to let out another loud cry, and Mom growls under her breath, turning the stove off. "Sammy," she snaps, "Dammit, kid, stop." 

"Mom, can I-"

"Dean, be quiet for a moment," Mary cuts him off. Sam's crying grows louder, and Mom lets loose a soft sob of her own before she sets him down in the middle of the table, opposite Dean's younger self. As an adult, Dean wonders if this is safe, dropping a six-month old in the middle of a table cluttered with dishes and hot food, but Mom doesn't seem to give a fuck, if the way she turns her back to the crockpot is any indication. 

"Wh-what is she doing?" he asks. 

This isn't the Mom he remembers. Mom was sweet and caring and loving. She sang him to sleep with  _ Hey Jude, _ she made him pie and she  _ loved  _ Sammy enough to die for him. 

As though to prove him wrong, Mary yanks open a cupboard and pulls out a small bottle. Dean leans in close, almost against himself, and his stomach drops at the sight of the label on the bottle. 

_ POPPOSINI.  _

The most basic of Calming Potions, often fed to those who have trouble sleeping... made of liquid moonlight and poppy seeds, the potion has no side-effects, but he's never seen it used on a child. 

"Mom, don't!" he shouts. "Mom, feeding that to Sam could hurt him, don't-" 

"It's a memory, you big lump," Balthazar says. "You can't reach her." 

He whirls around on one foot and glares at the werecat. "She's gonna hurt him," he hisses. "And I don't remember this, she wasn't-"

Mom's supposed to be the one parent who loves  _ and  _ likes him. Dad's fucked off to God-knows-where, and while Dean doesn't doubt John's love for his boys, he also knows that whether Dad  _ likes  _ them is a big question mark. Mom died and Dad checked out because his perfect wife was gone. 

But Mary  _ isn't  _ perfect. Dean's heart clenches at the thought; all these years, he's clung to the belief that if Mom did live, their lives would have been the stuff of dreams. Now, he's no longer sure. 

Because this... this isn't the Mom  _ he  _ remembers. 

"Watch, Dean." A sharp claw brings him back to himself and Dean scowls at the kitty-cat, but turns his attention back to where Mom is opening the bottle carefully. His heart sinks as she pulls out a teaspoon and fills it. 

"Please Mom," he begs, "Please... don't..."

_ Don't do this. Don't shatter the image he's built up in his head. Don't take away the one shred of hope he's been clinging to for the past two decades.  _

Because if Mom wasn't perfect, then everything he's been through... everything he's put Cas, Sam, Charlie, Bobby, Ellen and Jo through... it's all for nothing. 

"Mom, please, you don't have to do this." 

She, of course, ignores him completely. Dean's fist clenches and he bites his lower lip, watching as she pats a crying Sammy's cheek and then does something completely unexpected. 

Mary swallows the spoonful of Calming Potion and then pours out another spoon. When she's swallowed her third, she sighs and then dumps the spoon into the sink and puts the potion away, taking a long moment to square her shoulders and turn back to the two boys at the table. 

Sam's soft cries have turned into loud screams by now and his face is flushed and red. Young Dean, so far eating quietly, also has his face scrunched up - it doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's going to start crying any second as well, probably in sympathy for his brother. 

But Dean's attention is drawn to the expression on Mom's face. It's calm now, the potion working its way through her system. The soft, sweet smile he remembers from his childhood - from this very moment, in fact - is finally the same as before. Dean sees the lie he's believed all his life weave itself back into place, and his hands fall to his side, empty and clutching at nothing. 

"She... she needed..." he mutters. Acid bubbles in his stomach; sure, Mom wasn't the evil witch who'd fed her kids drugs. But  _ she  _ needed the drugs to deal with  _ them  _ \- and what'd that say about the kind of person she was? 

What'd that say about the kind of  _ son  _ he was? 

No wonder John's always disappointed in him. 

"Why?" he whispers. He doesn't recognize his own voice, even as he watches Mom sigh softly and pick up Sam, soothing him. 

"Because she wasn't  _ just  _ your mom," Balthazar's back to rubbing his feline face against Dean's calves. "She was a person, and people get annoyed.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, to the idea that Mom wasn’t just…  _ Mom _ . 

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad... take a sad song..." her voice is as angelic and beautiful as he remembers it being, but he doesn't fucking trust it any more - doesn't trust the memory or her, and  _ fuck _ , he can't breathe again, the world is spinning and it’s too  _ small _ , and  _ how  _ is this real, he can’t, he just  _ can’t - _

Dean crumples to the floor, curling in on himself, shuddering and shivering. A furry face pushes itself against his chest and he pulls Balthazar closes, even against the tickle in his throat, because the familiar feeling of the werecat’s fur grounds him. He can smell Cas on him, a sense of rain and thunderstorms and pine and ozone, and fuck, he just wants his best friend back. 

"Hey Jude... take a sad song and make it better..." 

The woman’s voice fades away and slips into that of a young child's and he finds himself humming along, the memory old and faded and dusted in the back corners of his mind where he buried it more than a decade ago. 

"Remember to let her into your heart..." Dean lets Balthazar go, but the werecat continues to rub his face against his chest, pawing at him gently. 

"Then you can start... to make it better." 

When his eyes flutter open, he sees exactly what he expected to - a ten-year old version of himself singing a crying six-year old Sam to sleep. He remembers this day, remembers this dingy motel room with its garish, puke-colored wallpaper because this is the last motel they ever stayed in. Because Dad - for once in his life - listened to Dean and allowed them to stay, allowed Bobby and Ellen to keep an eye on them even while he chased after a dead wife's ghost. 

But that’s not the only reason he cherishes his memory of this night. 

A knock on the door has both him and his younger self craning their necks in that direction. Sam's still sniffling, but he's quieted down from the nightmare Dean remembers him having. His ten-year old self pats his shoulder and gets up, walking cautiously back to the door to look through the peephole. 

Dean remembers the rush of confusion at the navy eyes that had peered back at him then, the caution and the sudden panic that Dad was  _ gone _ , but here was his friend’s foster-kid, asking stupid questions. It took him a  _ long  _ time to trust Bobby and Ellen, even if they were Dad’s oldest friends. 

He watches his younger self slide his hand into the pocket of his jacket and remembers the way the wand-key had poked at the skin of his palm. He couldn't do any magic beyond the most basic of protection spells, but it was  _ his  _ job to watch out for Sammy and that was what he was going to do. 

"Whossit?" he calls out cautiously. 

"Dean, it's me." 

Distanced as he is from the memory, Dean can snort at the way Cas's voice slides into a high-pitch. He was fourteen then, on the cusp of puberty, voice on the verge of breaking into the rough baritone that sends shivers down his spine today. 

The younger Dean yanks open the door the same time he releases a silent burst of energy and holds the now expanded-wand up defensively against the taller boy. "What do you want?" he barks.

The younger version of Cas simply knocks away the shaking hand. He walks inside the room, turning around to hold up a brown bag. Sam sits up on the bed, curling his arms around his knees, watching the two of them. 

“I came to bring you this,” Cas says. “Ellen sent it, she wanted to make sure you and your brother had something to eat.” 

“Don’t want it,” kid Dean snaps. “We can feed ourselves. Tell your stupid foster-mom to butt out.”

Watching now, Dean sees the look of understanding flash across Cas’s face before it’s schooled by the expression of irritation that he remembers from his childhood. It would take his younger self a long time to accept it, of course, but Cas  _ knows  _ him, understood what made Dean tick even back here. 

“Don’t speak about her like that,” Cas growls. And this,  _ this  _ is why he loves Cas - he’s never afraid to stand up for what he believes or the people that he loves. “She’s just trying to be nice.” 

“We’re not charity cases,” kid-Dean snarls. 

“And she isn’t treating you like one,” Cas snaps back. “She wants you to come and help me clean the yard tomorrow. And Sam can play with Charlie and Jo while we do so.” 

"Dean," Sam's small voice breaks through his reverie. "Dean, I'm hungry." 

He watches his younger self purse his lips, making a show of considering it, and it hurts to remember - because he'd been just as hungry, even if he was wary. They'd gone to bed without food, since the money Dad left behind had already run out, and Dean had pumped Sammy full of some candy he'd managed to steal out of a mortal classmate's backpack, but it wasn't anywhere enough to count as a meal. 

Cas raises an eyebrow, shooting him a questioning look, but Sam's hungry whine cinches it. His younger self stomps over to grab the bag, and without so much as a  _ thank-you _ , whirls back around to yank out the two huge burgers and dump them onto plastic plates.

Dean's stomach clenches at the careful way he cuts up the burger for his brother and sits next to him. Sam's face lights up with the widest grin he'd seen in a long-ass time, and though he'll never admit it, in that exact moment, he'd wanted to hug Cas and sob his heart out. 

"Than'f fu, Cas," Sam mumbles through a mouthful of Ellen's burger. Kid-Dean doesn't say anything, but Cas doesn't seem to mind, instead seating himself on the opposite bed, watching them with that intense expression. 

"Yard cleaning, huh?" kid-Dean grunts as he polishes the last of the burger. 

Cas tilts his head and offers him the familiar eye-squint that Dean's come to depend on all these years. "Indeed," he says. "It's quite the chore, given that Bobby's garden is huge. He's the only nursery in town that offers both Vines and mortal seeds, so he's quite in demand." 

_ This, _ Dean realizes,  _ this is the exact moment it all began. _ Up until now, he and Sam were always by themselves, no family, no home. But 'cleaning the yard' next day was Ellen's way of bringing the boys into her fold; she taught him how to tend to the plants in her backyard, taught him how to love the same magic that took Mom away. And Bobby supplemented that love by sending him to the Academy, even going so far as to threaten John with CPS when he protested it. 

"But Ellen will keep an eye on Sam?" his younger self asks suspiciously. As grateful as he was for the offer of food, his first job was -  _ still is, _ Dean thinks, somewhat bitterly - to look out for Sam's safety. 

Cas nods. "He can play with Jo and Charlie." 

"Who's Charlie?" Sam speaks up. "Is he your friend?" 

" _ She _ ," Cas stresses, "is my friend, yes. She's my foster sister, just like Jo is." 

"Charlie's a girl?" Sam scrunches his face. "Ew." 

"What's wrong with girls?" Cas asks. 

"They have cooties!" Sam whines, "And they also want to play with Barbie dolls." 

"Actually, Jo loves to play with toy knives," Cas shrugs. "And Charlie loves to build Lego cities." He fixes Sam with a serious expression and says, "But Barbie dolls are fun too.  _ I _ enjoy playing with them." 

Sam falls quiet at that, a red flush spreading down his entire neck. 

"You can play with anything, Sam," Cas's voice turns kinder at the sight of the boy's pout. From his vantage point, Dean can see the warmth on his best friend's young face, and he feels his heart leap to his throat. "As long as you have fun, it doesn't matter." 

"But..." Sam hesitates, "But won't Charlie and Jo laugh at you? If you... if you played with Barbies?" 

Cas blinks. "Why would they?" he asks. "Toys are just meant to be fun. If I'm having fun with them, why should anyone laugh at me?" 

"Because they're girly?" young Dean interrupts. " _ Barbies _ , man." 

"I didn't realize inanimate objects have a gender, Dean," Cas says, "but sure. Laugh, if you'd like, I don't really care. Sam," he turns to the younger boy, "do you like Barbies?" 

Sam shoots his elder brother a look of discomfort, but nods. And it takes Dean a moment, but watching like this, it hits him - Sam was afraid to admit it because of  _ him _ . Because he'd always been against 'girly' things, against the inherently feminine in his life, because that was what Dad had taught them, because that was what Dean was supposed to be - a man, able to look after and care for his family. 

Gods, how fucked up was he? How much had he fucked up his brother? 

"Sam?" Cas urges. 

"Yeah, Cas," Sam says shyly. "I like Barbies." He shoots the younger Dean a frightened look, but continues on bravely, "They have really pretty hair! Like the picture of Mom you showed me, Dean." 

Kid Dean's expression softens and he reaches out to ruffle the six-year old's hair. "Always knew you were a girl, Samantha," he murmurs. Sam giggles, leaning into his brother's touch, and Cas smiles. 

"I'll tell you a secret, Sam," he whispers in a conspiratorial manner. "Both Charlie and Jo also like Barbies. If you ask them to play with you tomorrow, Bobby and Ellen will get you my old Barbies." 

"Really?" Sam's eyes go wide, and fuck, Dean's heart is so heavy with just how much he loves this damned dork. Cas has always known how important Sam is to him, hasn't he? 

"Really," he confirms. "And maybe Charlie can teach you how to do a basic hair-charm, how would you like that? Jo's always bugging her to teach her, maybe if you asked as well, Charlie will do it this time." 

"Yes!" Sam cheers. "Dean, can I take my wand tomorrow? Please, Dean, please?" 

His younger self grunts, but doesn't protest. "Sure, Sammy," he says, "If you sleep now and get your ass up on time tomorrow morning." 

"Okay!" Sam instantly dives under the covers, accidentally spilling the leftover ketchup onto the floor. He sits up immediately, a bashful expression on his face and pouts. "Dean, I'm sorry," he whispers. 

Kid Dean simply sighs and reaches out to ruffle his hair. "Go to bed, Sam," he says gruffly. "I'll take care of this." 

"I'll help," Cas offers. "I know a few basic cleaning charms." 

"I can do it," Dean says harshly, slapping away Cas's hand as he raises his wand. The elder sorcerer's expression reveals - for the first time - his disappointment. 

"You don't trust me." It's not a question, but Dean nods anyway. "Why?" 

"I don't  _ know  _ you," Dean snaps. "And it's my job to watch out for Sammy." 

"Who's going to watch out for you, then?" Cas murmurs. 

Dean's heart breaks as he takes in the expression on his own face - he remembers this moment, remembers the sense of utter desolation that came upon him and the feeling of intense hatred for this boy in front of him who was reading him so very easily. 

"I don't need anyone to watch out for me," he hears himself snarl and watches Cas calmly block the punch he throws at the elder boy's face. 

"My uncle used to hit me," he says calmly at the dumbfounded expression on Dean's face. "And my mom died giving birth to me and my dad vanished, so I lived with my uncle for a long time." 

He drops Dean's hand, turning around without another word. He raises his wand, back still turned to the boys, and waves it - the ketchup stain on the floor vanishes, leaving it good as new. 

His younger self grunts in acknowledgement, still scowling, but it occurs to Dean - as he's watching, years from this exact moment - that Cas's shoulders are shaking. Hesitantly, he wanders over to face the younger version of his best friend, and he shouldn't be surprised,  _ fuck _ , he shouldn't - but Cas is crying quietly. The tears are raw and silent, just rolling down his face, but they're there, and Dean's always been this asshole, hasn't he? Even as far back as this moment, when Cas was just trying to help. 

"I know you don't need someone to watch out for you," Cas says, his voice giving away very little of the hurt Dean can see on his face, "But I want to be your friend, Dean." He marches out without another word, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Dean's younger self glares after him, muttering to himself about assholes and how he's fine being alone, and it hurts, fuck, it  _ hurts _ , because even after this... even when he pushed him away, Cas  _ stayed _ . 

Cas has  _ always  _ stayed. 

And this - this is why Dean will never push for more, never allow himself to care for Cas the way he truly wants. Because Cas deserves better, deserves someone who will appreciate him for who he is, not someone who can only ever snark or fight with him. 

"Oh lord, why are you such a lumbering idiot?" 

Dean looks down at Balthazar's hiss in surprise, having almost forgotten that he isn't alone here. 

"What?" he grunts. 

Balthazar meows, jumping on to Dean's chest. The sorcerer catches him instinctively, yelping at the scratch of his claws and glares down at him. 

"Castiel is your best friend, you man-pain filled child," he snaps. "He isn't gonna leave you." 

"He deserves better," Dean snaps. "And he's got Meg." 

"Oh for the love of," Balthazar rolls his eyes. "Hang on." 

"Wha-woah!" 

Dean's arms suddenly collapse from the growing weight and he curls into a ball as the room spins and the world grows smaller and smaller - 

When it finally feels like he can breathe again, he opens his eyes, still holding his arms tightly around his body. Balthazar is right in front of him, licking his fur clean, looking for all the world like an innocent house tabby. Dean growls at him, hand darting out to grab the werecat to shake him into submission. 

Balthazar avoids him as easily as he does at home when he doesn't feel like being touched, and hisses back at him. 

"I preferred it when you couldn't talk," Dean says. 

"Just because you couldn't hear me, Dean-o, didn't mean that I was not speaking," Balthazar informs him in a lofty manner.

"Right," Dean mutters, pushing him away. He gets to his feet slowly and looks around. "The fuck are we?"

"Don't recognize your home away from home, kiddo?" Balthazar says. 

The walls are covered with Zeppelin and AC/DC posters and the two twin beds sit across one another, almost mocking him in their sincerity. He hasn't seen this room in almost a year, since his birthday, when Ellen and Bobby insisted he come home. 

_ Come up for Thanksgiving this year, boy _ , he can hear Bobby's gruff voice echo at the back of his head. We miss ya. 

_ I'm busy, Bobby _ , he'd said. But he isn't - he just didn't want to deal with Sam's puppy looks, with Ellen and Bobby's gruff affection even though he knows they're disappointed his decision to not pursue his graduate degree, or with Charlie and Jo's stiflingly cute couple-y gooeyness. 

"Dean!" 

He hears Charlie's loud screech on cue, and his heart jumps - he's been avoiding his best friend for almost a month now, and even if her voice is the squeaky fourteen-year old Charlie's, it's still her. Swallowing tightly, Dean walks out of the bedroom and down the stairs, just in time to see his sixteen-year old self be attack-hugged by a small, cherry-topped figure. 

"Hey Red!" he picks her up and twirls her around, and  _ dammit _ , how long has it been since he just held his pseudo-sister like that? 

"You're here, you're here, you're _ here!"  _

And damn, how long has it been since he heard her shriek like that? 

"Charlie, you saw 'em just yesterday," twelve-year old Jo's voice is just as snappy her current twenty-two year old self and Dean's chest is tight, because she hasn't spoken to him since he started avoiding her girlfriend. 

"Ya, but Sam and Dean are staying with us for a whole week, Jo," Charlie snarks back from where she's cuddled against a lanky, sixteen year-old Dean. 

A chubby Sam pushes his way past his brother to hug Jo, who sticks her tongue out at Dean and Charlie before she wraps herself around him. This was their childhood, Dean remembers - after Cas left for college, it was always him and Charlie against Sam and Jo, who were both the same age and partners-in-crime. 

"What, no hug for me?" Ellen's voice has them all turning around to see her standing there, pie in hand. Dean can feel his stomach swoop at the sight - Mom needed a Calming Potion to deal with them, but Ellen's grin is as warm and loving as ever. 

"Ellen!" Sam lets Jo go to bounce over to her and hug her around the waist. She sets the pie down to hug him back and raises an eyebrow at teen Dean, who grins sheepishly and then joins her. 

"Where's John?" she murmurs in his ear. And Dean remembers this, remembers the way he couldn't meet her eyes - because Dad was drunk off his ass and refused to come to Bobby and Ellen's for Christmas, even though he promised he'd show up. 

Ellen's eyes soften and she leans over to kiss cheek before squeezing his shoulder. She lets him go - far too early, Dean recalls, his palms clenching and unclenching with the ghostly touch of her hug as he watches himself step back - and picks up the pie again, nodding at them all. 

"Cas will be here soon," she calls, "We can decorate the tree once Bobby gets back with him from the airport." 

"What do we do till then?" Sam asks. 

"Lord of the Rings marathon!" Charlie cheers. Sam makes a face, but Jo pulls him to the couch. Dean follows as the four kids settle themselves on the ratty old couch, the ancient TV booming from across them. His younger self grunts and whines at the way the two girls use him as a pillow, but Dean remembers this feeling of warmth, of the carelessly affectionate touch that means so much more than he could ever voice out. Charlie's head is on his lap, Jo cuddled into his side with her legs thrown over Sam's, who is on the far end of the couch, munching on popcorn. 

How long has it been since he's done this? Ever since he decided that he wasn't going to get a higher degree in Herbal Alchemy, he's been an asshole to the rest of them, refusing to take Charlie's calls or answer Bobby's messages. Ditching Sam and Eileen tonight isn't new, he thinks - it's been a long time coming. 

"No one's telling you how to grieve, Dean," Balthazar's voice interrupts his reverie. "But you need to stop blaming yourself for what happened."

"My Dad turned into a vegetable because I told him I was leavin' home," Dean retorts. "Pretty sure that  _ makes  _ it my fault."

"Your Dad turned into a vegetable because he's had a drinking problem since your mother's passing." 

"That's not... he's not..." Balthazar's intensely blue eyes are far too like Cas for Dean to face him right now. The werecat pads over to him, nimbly jumping onto his lap, and fixes him with the same stink-eye that his best friend gives him when he wakes up to find that Dean hasn't fed the animals in the menagerie like he promised. 

"Why isn't he here now, Dean?" Balthazar asks. "It's  _ Christmas _ . What's more important than spending one day with his boys?"

Dean's answer - stuck in his throat - is interrupted by the sound of a car horn that echoes from the outside. Charlie jumps off of the couch to race to the door, and after a moment's hesitation, Sam does the same, leaving Jo and Dean to watch them.

"Cas!" Charlie's exuberant cry has both of them chuckling at one another. Dean finds his own lips curving into a smile when a twenty-year old Cas shoulders his way into the house, picking up Charlie and twirling her around the same way his own younger self had done just a while ago.

"Hello Charlie," he greets his, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. 

"Cas!" Jo pushes away the redhead to get her own hug, and Dean marvels at the patience with which Cas - at this moment an  _ actual  _ grown-up in the way none of the kids were yet - holds her and listens to her chatter about school. 

"Come on, ya idjits," Bobby's rough voice cuts through the din, "Let the poor boy in, it's colder 'en a witch's tit out there." 

"Bobby Singer!" Ellen's loud call booms from the kitchen, "You cut that shit out right now or you ain't gettin' no pie." 

Bobby's face is comical and the kids laugh at him, Cas's chuckle rumbling across the room as he shrugs off his coat and moves to the couch. 

"No more swearin' for you, old man," teen Dean smirks. "Or I get your pie too." 

"Watch your mouth, kid," Bobby grunts, "Or I'mma cut your time with Impala short." Dean sticks out his tongue at his uncle, knowing that it's an empty threat. There's no one the winged horse responds to better than him, and they both know it very well. 

"Hey, uh, Cas," teen Dean turns his attention to the tall man now settling down on the opposite end of the couch where Sam had sat. There's a flush running up the side of his neck, and Dean remembers this, remembers the feeling of complete mortification and shyness that overtook him at this moment - Cas was a man, and although Dean's made his peace with his bisexuality, this was the first time he saw his best friend as a  _ man  _ and not just Cas. 

"Hello Dean," Cas hums. His eyes are alight with warmth, but before he can say anything else, Charlie plops herself on his lap, throwing her legs over Dean's. Jo ambles up to join them, reclaiming her previous spot by Dean's side, but Sam curls up in front of the couch this time. 

"How's... uh, how's college?"

"Interesting," Cas says. "I'm learning quite a bit about how to work with Creatures." A teasing smile splits his lips, "Maybe I can teach you how to heal Impala the next time she falls sick."

"No way, man," teen Dean retorts. "Baby's all mine." 

Just then, Cas's phone rings. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen and then turns it off, and there’s a strange redness to his face. 

"Whossit?" Jo asks. 

"Um..." Cas stammers, his expression turning nervous. "No one, just..." 

"C'mon man, who is it?" his younger self is joining in on the fun, but Dean remembers the hot spike of jealousy that had swooped down his stomach - he feels it now, again, because no matter how much he tells himself he doesn't want Cas, it will remain a lie. 

He will  _ always  _ want Cas. 

"Is it a girl?" 

Cas's bright blush is answer enough and even though teen Dean is faking a whoop of joy, it hurts to watch. Charlie screeches in excitement and whacks Cas's chest, demanding details. 

"Ellen, Bobby!" she calls, "Cas has a  _ giiiiirlfriend _ !" 

"Do you now, son?" Bobby walks out and Cas has gone red, stammering out that  _ no _ , he doesn't have a girlfriend. "Then who was that?" Bobby raises an eyebrow. 

"Her name's Meg," Cas murmurs, ducking his head, "We've been on a few dates but..." he shrugs.

Even from here, Dean can see the hopeful, shy expression on his face. 

"Stop torturin' the poor boy," Ellen says as she walks out of the kitchen. "He's only just got home."

"But Ellen," Charlie whines, "Cas has a girlfriend! I wanna know about her!" 

"She's not my girlfriend!" Cas insists. 

"And he'll tell you when he wants to," Ellen adds. "Unless you wanna talk about  _ Gilda _ , Red." 

"Oh, who's Gilda?" Cas looks at his foster-sister, whose face turns a red bright enough to clash with her hair. 

"She's... she's just-" Charlie stammers. Cas smirks, eyes narrowing at her, but Dean's attention is drawn to the way Jo's arm tightens around his younger self. 

"You okay, Jo?" he hears him whispering to the blonde.

"I'm fine," she mutters back, before jumping off the couch and declaring, "I'm hungry, Mom. Can we eat?" 

"Is... she's jealous!" Dean exclaims. No one in front hears him, of course, but Balthazar hisses and nods in agreement. 

"Took you long enough," he says, before going back to licking his fur. 

"Ya, well, I was a little occupied at the time," Dean grunts, looking back his younger self, who's torn between acting abrasive and bashful in front of the suddenly-hot, suddenly-beautiful Cas. The entire evening was like this, he remembers, feeling hot under the collar each time Cas moves into his space, and then immediately feeling like shit when Cas phone dings to announce a message from Meg. 

For some reason, this memory drags on and on. Dean and Balthazar curl up opposite to the table, watching as they sit and have their annual Christmas dinner. Conversation is centered around Cas's return and his study at college, and seeing Bobby's expression now, taking in Ellen's tone of pride, Dean can admit what he's been running away from since the moment he sent in that rejection letter to the Academy. 

He's not been angry with them - he's angry with Dad. He's angry with himself for choosing to stay loyal to a man who's never encouraged him to pursue his dreams. 

And fuck, he's now angry with himself for not once noticing just how much he's been hurting all of them. 

"C'mon, kids," Bobby calls as though on cue, once they're all done eating. "Tree time." 

Sam whoops in delight - even now, decorating a Christmas tree is a novelty for him, simply because Dad spent so much of their childhood telling them no to the simplest things. He and Charlie race over to the tree, competing with one another to yank out the best ornaments from the box Ellen had set aside for them. Jo follows at a much more sedate pace, but her expression is just as excited. Dean's younger self is hanging around the older people in the room, however, hovering close to Cas, a childhood crushed materialized into something much stronger. 

"Dean?" Ellen says, "Go on, boy. Go keep an eye on 'em, will you?"

"I just... I-uh, Cas?" he rubs the back of his neck. 

Cas's smile isn't patronizing like Ellen or Bobby's; it's the same, intensely blue eyes widening at Dean, the corner of his lips upturned in that familiar grin, his head tilted. 

"Give me a minute," he tells him, "and I shall join you."

Dean watches himself nod shyly and amble back to his younger siblings, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Charlie's handing out an ornament to Sam, who's chattering away happily, but Jo is sitting slightly afar, a strange expression on her young face. 

"You alright there, Jojo?" he mutters, yanking lightly on a golden pigtail. 

"Don't call me that," she scowls. He grins, pulling her close and even though she elbows him, she accepts the arm he drops around her shoulder. 

"I'm going to marry her someday," she announces in a soft whisper. Watching her now, Dean can see the tenderness in her eyes, but back then, he was so surprised, he nearly dropped her then and there. 

Teen Dean holds true to the memory. His eyes fly to hers in shock, but Jo determinedly ignores his searching gaze, instead staring at Charlie. The redhead is giggling at Sam, who's jumping up to reach the upper branches of the tree. 

"Charlie?" he asks in confusion. 

Jo doesn't say anything, but nods once. 

"She's your sister, Jo," he points out, making a face. Jo glares up at him. 

" _ Foster _ -sister," she hisses. "And I don't care. Mom and Bobby won't care either." 

"What if she doesn't want you?" Dean says softly. 

"I... I don't know," Jo flounders. Before they can continue, Cas comes over, picking up Sam and placing him on his shoulders, allowing him to reach the top branch and hang up the little snowflake there. 

"Dean?" Jo's voice is tiny, for once belying her nature as a scared twelve-year old. 

"Yeah?"

"I really like her," Jo murmurs. "Really,  _ really  _ like her." 

"Yeah, kiddo," Dean whispers. 

_ I really, really like him too _ , adult Dean remembers thinking, both of them watching Cas laugh out loud, ruffling Sam's hair affectionately as he sets him down. 

He still does - he's self-aware enough to know that he fell in love with Castiel Novak when he was a kid, and he's never gotten over him. He wonders if he ever will. 

"Do you want to get over him?" Balthazar bumps his head against Dean's knee. He bends down and lifts up the kitty, absently scratching at his neck. 

"Quit readin' my mind," he grumbles. "You're supposed to be a stupid werecat." 

"And you're supposed to be smart, but it's funny how things don't hold true to form," Balthazar retorts. 

"Look," Dean sighs. "I geddit. This whole...thing-" he waves his hand around, gesturing to the fact that he's fucking standing in the middle of an old memory, "is like some sort of wake up call or whatever, for me to be more introspective and all." 

"But..." he stares back at Cas, who's once again distracted by his phone. The expression of pure excitement on his face was his undoing then - as evidenced by the heartbreak clear on teen Dean's face - and it is his undoing now. Because Cas found someone else. 

And everyone here... his family. Christ on a tortilla, he loves them all so very much, but he also feels the giant, person-shaped hole that was supposed to be Dad. 

"I told Dad I was goin' to school," he says finally. "And because I did, he went out, wrapped himself around a tree and got himself turned into a vegetable now." 

He looks down. Balthazar's eyes have the same frustrated expression as Cas does when Dean's being unreasonable. And that, more than anything else, is what gives him the courage to say it. 

"I hate it," he admits. "I  _ want  _ to be here. But," he looks away, "I can't." 

Balthazar lets out an angry hiss. "You are such a fucking drama queen," he yowls. Before Dean can protest, he's drawn out his claws and slashed at the sorcerer's hands. 

Dean yelps, dropping him, and he darts away, hissing and meowing. The world begins to spin again, and he falls, the floor hard against his face, and he cries in pain, hands instinctively reaching for Balthazar, but there's nothing here, nothing but empty air - 

The blue swirls into a taunting, blood-colored gaze, and the world narrows down to the pin-prick of that iris, angry and irritated. 

And Dean takes that as permission to blissfully pass the fuck out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - perceived child harm, slight underage (teen!Dean crushing on adult!Cas with four years age difference between them)


	3. All the Hallow(s) Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the end of the chapter.

**Chapter 3**

Awareness returns just as slow as the last time this shit happened. Dean's eyes slowly flutter open and he reaches out with a groan, instinctively searching for Balthazar's soft fur. What he finds instead though, is a much rougher, much bigger paw. The low meow of the werecat has been replaced by a stinky, hot breath that covers his face. 

"Ugh," he sits up. "The fuck?" 

"'Bout time, princess," comes the low growl. 

Dean scrambles back, startled at the sight of the huge hellhound glaring up at him. "...Crowley?" he asks. 

"No, your dead mother," Crowley snarks back. 

"Where's the kitty-cat?" Dean's eyes dart around, searching for the familiar black fur and blue eyes. 

"Got tired of your squirrelly arse and passed you over to me," Crowley says. "Now can we just get on with it?" 

Dean glares at him. "And what're you gonna do, show me  _ more  _ memories of how I've fucked up?" 

"Well, if the shoes fits. Now shut up and walk." 

Dean grumbles under his breath, getting to his feet. He's been practicing magic long enough to know that whatever is happening, he ain't gettin' outta it, but does every one of Cas's damned Creatures have to be  _ British _ ? This is why he works with Vines, dammit, they're nice and easy and don't snark back when he nurtures them. 

Though he does miss his Baby... Impala wouldn't snark, she's too much of a sweetheart. 

"Don't be so sure about that, princess," Crowley snorts. A puff of smoke escapes his nose and Dean blinks - okay, woah, _ big _ dog. "Your Baby is about as nasty as  _ your  _ stupid arse." 

"Uh..." Dean's about to retort, when the sound of Sam's voice reaches his ears. 

"I'm worried, Eileen," Sam's saying. 

Dean whirls around; one moment, they're nowhere, and the next, they're in a very familiar room, the soft  _ beep-beep _ of the monitors echoing within the silence. In the distance, Dean can hear the healers yelling out medical jargon, but his attention is drawn to the still figure on the bed in front of him, and the two seated by his side. 

_ Go, Dean. Not like you and your brother need  _ **_me_ ** _ anymore.  _

The expression on Dad's face is serene, nothing like the twisted, angry bastard that snarked at Dean when he told him he was going to graduate school outside the city. 

"He's... ever since Dad, Dean hasn't been himself," Sam sighs. "I know he feels responsible, but he won't let me help and I dunno what to do!" 

"You can't force him to accept help, Sam," Eileen murmurs. "Dean has to make his own peace with what happened." 

"Yeah, about that..." Sam trails off, wincing. 

Eileen levels him with a sharp look. "What did you do?" she asks suspiciously. 

"I... may have sent a firefly to the Academy on Dean's behalf," he admits sheepishly. "To ask if they're still willing to take him for the Spring Intake." 

"And are they?" 

Dean holds his breath, feeling his stomach clench at the thought. He's not sure what to feel about the fact that his younger brother is, apparently, making decisions for him, but the Academy … the menagerie is small, running mostly on Cas’s Creatures at the moment. Earning a graduate degree, apprenticing himself to one of the supervising ArchMages, becoming a licensed nursery owner... It was his dream.

He just doesn't know when it turned into this nightmare. 

"What do you think?" Sam whispers, rubbing his hands tiredly across his eyes. 

"They're taking him in?" Eileen guesses. 

"With a full ride," Sam agrees. "He'll have to meet rent and bills, but there are covens he can run errands for, or he can help with Alchemists’ research for grants or he could even work at one of the local menageries,” he shrugs, looking like that hungry six-year old again. Dean's heart cracks;  _ he  _ did this, he disappointed his brother. Again. 

"I can't do it, Sam," he growls. "I can't leave Dad like this, I gotta take care of him." 

"Your Dad's gone, cupcake." It's not Sam but Crowley that answers him from where he is sniffing the edge of the bed. 

"He's  _ right  _ here," Dean scowls. "Sure, he ain't talkin' or even movin' but those spells are keepin' him alive." 

"Keepin’ his body alive,” Crowley says. “His soul’s long gone. You’re living a pipe dream, squirrel.” 

“We have magic, Crowley,” Dean snarls. “Sure, if this were a mortal hospital, Dad has zero chances, but we’re  _ sorcerers _ . You tellin’ me there ain’t no way we’re gettin’ him back when I’m standing invisible in front of my brother and talking to a hellhound, you literal son of a bitch?” 

“Somethings, even magic can’t do,” Crowley says. “Like apparently give your pea-brain a boost. Think about it, Dean. What happens even if your Dad does come back? What do you do then?” 

Dean looks away, unable to meet those knowing, red eyes. “I can’t just abandon him,” he mutters. “He’s my Dad.” His gaze falls on Dad’s still form, following the way his chest rises up and down.

_ Sam’s already gone, maybe you should run out on your family too!  _

Crowley sniffs at his ankles, bumping his massive head against Dean’s stomach. 

“Sam,” Eileen says, “You have to tell him. And you know he isn’t gonna be happy about it.” 

“I know,” Sam sighs. “He’s gonna be so pissed that I went behind his back.” 

“Gee, ya think, Sammy?” Dean grunts. “You’re picking apart my whole future without my permission, man!” 

"Does Cas know?" Eileen asks. 

"No," Sam says. "But I'mma tell him before I tell Dean. Maybe he can help me convince him that he should take this." 

Eileen hums, leaning into Sam's side. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, dropping a kiss on her forehead, the both of them falling quiet for a long moment as they observe Dad. 

_ He's... Dean's always been so loyal to him _ . Sam's hands tremble as they sign the words and Eileen nuzzles into his shoulder in comfort.  _ Even after we settled down here, even after Bobby and Ellen and Charlie and Jo... Dean couldn't ever give him up _ . 

_ Is that why you left? _ Eileen's hands are steady even as she asks the question Dean's never been able to voice. Sam stiffens, but she refuses to let him pull away, instead looking up at him firmly. She doesn't ask for an explanation, but quietly waits, and that, more than anything, is enough to convince his brother. 

_ I... don't know _ . His expression is troubled. _ I left because I needed to get away from Dad. Not Dean. Never Dean _ .

Eileen pulls Sam's face down to hers and kisses him softly, pressing her lips against his once, twice, thrice, before she pulls back and pats his cheek. 

"Maybe," she murmurs against him, "Maybe you should tell  _ him  _ that." 

"Maybe I should," Sam sighs, pulling back and resting his head against hers. 

"We should head back," Eileen squeezes his arm. "Bobby and Ellen will be waiting, and Jo said there was something she wanted to talk to us about. Did Cas say if he was coming?" 

"Meg's having her All Hallow's Eve party tonight," Sam tells her as they both grab their coats. "He said he'd stop by around midnight, but he didn't wanna stay too long, in case Dean's blown himself up again." 

Eileen's only response is a tired sigh, and Dean's heart sinks at the knowing look on her face.

"Follow them, idiot," Crowley bumps against his hip and he looks down, momentarily confused. 

"We're... what?" 

A huff and a growl later, Dean finds himself gently nudged along, invisibly following after his brother and his girlfriend. They head down the hallway, towards the Portal queue, chatting quietly as they wait for their turn to use it. They alternate between using sign language and speaking out loud, so Dean catches only every third word or so since he's still learning ASL. But the bits he does understand make his stomach clench. Their discussions range from their graduate courses to the weekly dinners they want to host with the rest of the family. It's normal, it's domestic, it's  _ boring  _ \- it drives in the fact that Sam doesn't need him anymore, not the way Dean needs to be needed. 

When at last they get to the Portal, Sam holds up his wand and waves it, muttering under his breath. The familiar purple glow opens up the fabric of the universe. Eileen passes through, Sam following and Dean's just watching them when Crowley growls and bumps against his hip. 

"Follow the moose, you stupid squirrel," he grunts. 

Shoved into the Portal, Dean stumbles; everything's spinning, the world's turning too fast for him, and there's light, there's  _ so  _ much bright light, but no sound -

\- he falls down and rolls on the ground unceremoniously, bumping to a stop by a much larger, furry object. 

"Son of a bitch," he snaps. Crowley huffs at him, his breath just as smelly as always, and Dean pushes the hellhound away from him, slowly getting to his feet. 

The silence is almost unnerving in its intensity, the only sounds that of the crickets chirping in the distance. The night is dark and heavy, as though it's a blanket used to smother an unknowing victim into their last breath - not exactly a strange analogy, considering the graveyard they're smack dab in the middle of. 

"Hey Mom," Sam's bending over a gravestone Dean hasn't seen in ages. Eileen is right behind him, a hand resting on the small of his back.

"We're... this is... Sam..." Dean's words die in his throat. 

"I tried to get Dean to come today, but you know how he is," Sam says. "But he misses you, mom. We both do." 

"She needed _ Calming Potions _ to deal with us, Sammy," Dean growls. "She... we didn't... Dad didn't..." 

She wasn't perfect. His tongue can't form the statement, because even if he knows it to be true, he's never once considered just how much of an impact they'd make in his life. 

Would she have yelled at him too? Would she have supported his decision to go to school instead of manage the tiny menagerie that pulls in money enough to survive, but doesn’t really do much? 

"We're heading to dinner at Bobby and Ellen's," Sam continues, unaware of his elder brother's invisible huff of breath right next to him. "They wanted me to pay respects on their behalf. I say this every time, but you'd love 'em." Humming, he turns to Eileen and draws her closer, resting his cheek on her head. 

Dean's heart does a little funny-hop in his chest; he knows what's coming. 

"And this is Eileen," Sam whispers, looking down at her with a tender expression in his eyes. "She's... I love her so much, mom."

"Hello, Mrs. Winchester," Eileen murmurs. "It's wonderful to finally meet you." 

Sam's introducing Eileen to Mom. The significance of it is not lost on Dean; he didn't do that even with Jess, whom he'd dated for over four years of high-school before they broke up. 

"What'chu thinkin', cupcake?" Crowley drawls. Dean looks down, his eyes stinging. "You don't approve?" 

"Not that it's any of your business,  _ puppy _ ," he snaps, "But I do love Eileen. She's bold and brash and challenges his nerd-brain when she needs to." 

"But?" 

Dean can't meet that knowing, crimson gaze. "She's... Sam dunn't need me anymore, does he?" 

"Don't  _ do  _ that," Crowley huffs. "You're using Sam as a smokescreen for what you want. You always have. And once Sam left, it was your Dad." 

"What's that supposed to mean?!" 

"You dropped outta high school to look after Sam. You refused Bobby's offer of funding his education and dropped out of college to save up for Sam. You started the menagerie with Cas  _ for  _ Sam, so you could earn the cash you needed to keep him going." 

"I did what I had to do!" Dean yells. "Because Dad checked out and I had no choice." 

"Not sayin' you did," Crowley yawns. "But none of those things are mutually exclusive to you being an arse. You're afraid, Dean." 

"Shut the fuck up," Dean snarls, stomping away. 

But Crowley's right - of course he is. He did what he had to do, but he also did everything he could to sabotage his relationship with everyone. He hasn't answered Charlie's call in months, hasn't spoken to Jo or Bobby or Ellen, hasn't even let Cas into his room for the past week. 

It was as though he couldn't be bothered to care, as though if was just enough of an asshole to them, they'd stop caring, they'd prove him right - he's worthless, he's always been. 

Clenching his fists, he stomps away, refusing to let the damned dog see just how much his words hurt. The knot in his chest is so swollen, he can barely breathe and his breath is coming in little, short pants - because son of a bitch, as much as he loves Sam, he also resents him a little, because Dean's given up everything for him and Dad, but Sam's moving on and it's not fair because Dean doesn't know  _ how  _ to and he's terrified, because Sam's leaving  _ Dean  _ because Dean can't leave Dad and why can't he  _ breathe -  _

"Jo?" 

Charlie's voice is hesitant and sweet and shy in a way that he's never heard. 

Dean slides to the floor, exhausted. He looks around; he's no longer at the graveyard but at the girls' shared apartment off-campus. He's suddenly leaning against a heavy, furry pillow and Crowley growls into his ears in an irritated manner. 

"Don't run off like that," he snaps. "You're gonna get lost in some tear in the universe's makeup and then I'm gonna have to chase your arse down." 

"Why are we-" Dean gestures to where the two girls are curled up in bed, barely dressed. 

“Watch,” Crowley rolls his eyes. 

“What’s up, Charles?” Jo murmurs. 

“I...uh, I,” Charlie sounds more nervous than he’s ever heard her, even more than that time she was delivering her monologue to inspire her armies into defending their queen in Moondor. “I found the box.” 

Jo frowns. “Box?” 

Without another word, Charlie reaches up, above their bed, and taps the nose of the mouse in the portrait hanging on the wall. The mouse comes alive, wrinkling its nose, and then scrawls away into the distance - the portrait sinks into itself, opening up a safe. Inside, Dean catches a glimpse of a few jewelry boxes before Charlie pulls out a small black one that she holds out to Jo. 

“This box,” she says. 

Dean’s sharp intake of breath coincides with Jo’s as she leans over and plucks the box out of Charlie’s trembling hands. She refuses to meet the elder woman’s eyes, instead curling into a protective ball, holding the ring close to her chest. 

“I, uh…” she stutters. 

“That’s for me, isn’t it?” Charlie asks. “It better be, Harvelle. I’m not the sharing kind.” 

Jo looks up. Dean’s seen that shy smile exactly once before, when she finally worked up the courage to ask Charlie out back in high school. 

“Would you say yes if it was?” she whispers. 

“Can’t know until you ask, can you?” Charlie winks. The easy flirting puts Jo at ease and she reaches up to pull her down into a soft kiss. 

“Will you marry me, Charlene Bradbury?” she murmurs. 

Dean looks away. He knows what Charlie’s answer is gonna be of course - there’s no question about it. 

“Yes,” Charlie whispers on cue. “Of course it’s a yes.” 

The sounds of a kiss and warm whispers of  _ I love yous _ are exchanged and Dean tries really hard not to be grossed out. They’re practically his sisters, for fuck’s sake, this is will never not be weird. 

“For the record,” Charlie says as they finally break away from sucking each other’s faces. “You beat me to it.” 

Jo raises one golden eyebrow. “Oh?” she hums. 

“I was gonna drag Dean out ring-shopping next weekend,” Charlie shrugs. 

“Is he finally answering your fireflies again?” Jo grunts. 

A hot flush burns its way down the side of Dean’s neck at Charlie’s tired expression. 

“No,” she says. “But I was gonna march in there and get Cas to get him off his ass if he didn’t. He’s been wallowing long enough. And…” she pecks Jo’s cheek. “Getting out of the house will do him some good.” 

“Only if I can kick his ass,” Jo says fiercely. She pauses, and then the shy smiles returns. “You were really gonna ask?” 

“Of course,” Charlie draws her close. “I love you. And I know we’re young - you’re still in college - but this…” 

“Feels right,” Jo finishes. “Bein’ a little cliche’ there, Bradbury,” she smirks. 

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m queen, what I say goes,” she quips. 

“Queen of my heart,” Jo winks. 

“Really, Jo?” Dean grunts, rolling his eyes. Charlie, apparently, thinks the same, because his best friend grabs her pillow and whacks her girlfriend -  fiancée \- with it, leading the two girls into an epic pillow-fight that would be every teenage boy’s wet dream if said girls weren’t his sisters. 

Dean curls up against Crowley and watches the easy smiles on their faces. Despite the numerous fireflies Charlie’s left him in the past few months, he’s ignored her. She’s his best friend - other than Cas, of course, but he’s different - and Jo’s his baby sister, and he refused to answer any of them, telling himself that he’s busy, that he’s looking for a cure for Dad. 

_ I’m going to marry her, Dean.  _

Jo’s preteen voice echoes in his mind and he closes his eyes, the image of her fierce expression flashing behind them. He remembers Cas’s own expression from that, remembers the warmth a grownup Cas had shown the youngsters in the house and thinks that Cas - and all of them, really - are too fucking good for him. 

“Oh for-” Crowley growls, “You damned moron.” 

Dean yelps as the hellhound pushes him and suddenly, they’re no longer curled up in front of Charlie and Jo’s bed, but on an unfamiliar couch tucked away in the corner of a huge-ass living room. The sounds of dancing and music fill the air, and he can smell the damned booze from where Crowley nudges his hip. 

“Fucking hell,” Dean grunts, jumping to his feet. “Where are we now?” But he doesn’t need an answer; the living room is familiar in its sprawling size and dim, dungeon-esque lights, not to mention the many sigils scrawled across the walls or the random-ass bones hanging off of hooks in different parts of the room. 

“Looks like your girl throws quite the party,” Crowley huffs. 

“She ain’t my girl,” Dean says automatically. 

“Where’s your sexy angel, Meg?” a hot-blonde -  _ Lilly? Lilith?  _ Dean can’t remember her name now - calls from where she’s hanging off of the first-floor railing on a dangling hook. 

Dean’s attention is drawn to where Meg’s sipping a glass of ectoplasm. She downs the entire shot in one go - and damn if that isn’t impressive, ectoplasm is nasty stuff, even if she is a witch - and bangs the glass down, flipping off the blonde. 

“Wasn’t he supposed to be here?” she sneers. “Promised you a dance and everything?” 

“Just like Luke’s dancin’ with you, Lilith?” Meg retorts. “The same way he’s been dancin’ with Ruby number one and Ruby number two?” 

Lilith’s face turns a virulent shade of red and she yanks out her crooked staff. She murmurs something under her breath and a second later, a jet-stream of cold water pours out one end, directed straight at Meg, who dodges and pulls out her own staff. 

“You little-" she snarls. 

"Your girl's got spunk," Crowley's long tongue darts out to lick at his paw. Dean's about to retort in disgust when the whiskey-soaked voice of his dreams echoes over the din of the witchy music. 

"Meg, stop," Cas translocates right behind her, pulling her arm back just in time. 

She whirls around, furious. "The hell were you, Clarence?" she hisses into his face. "You were supposed to be here ages ago." 

Cas's expression softens into something sweet - it makes Dean want to throw up, because that's the exact same expression he had on his face when he was telling Dean to take his damned Sleeping Potion. 

"I'm sorry, Meg," he says. "Can we..." he gestures awkwardly to the fact that he's still holding her hand. Behind them, Lilith hoots, but Meg just rolls her eyes and leads him out of the living room. 

This time, Dean doesn't need Crowley's urging to follow them - he's already hot on their tail, jumping up the stairs two at a time to beeline his way into Meg's bedroom. She pushes Cas down on the bed and Dean's heart sinks when his best friend doesn't protest. 

"You're fucking late," she murmurs breathlessly, grinding against him. 

Cas places two big palms on her hips, stilling her, and she glares at him. 

"Meg," he says softly. 

She huffs, pushing herself off and rolling to the side. She waves her hand, and a vape pen floats its way to her. Grabbing it, she takes a long, deep swig before turning back to Cas, who's just watching quietly. 

"I can't even have this now?" she snaps. "I get that you don't love me, Clarence, but at least fuck me, for fuck's sake." 

"I never said I don't love you, Meg," Cas murmurs. 

"Ya, you're just not in love wimme, blah, blah," she gestures her hand bitterly. "Because you're too busy running behind your boy toy." 

"He's not my boy toy," Cas snaps. "He's a good man, and I-" 

"Spare me," Meg interrupts. "I've been hearin' about his 'good' deeds for the past six years." She takes another swig and blows. Tendrils of cloudy white smoke weave together to form an angry lioness roaring her displeasure to the sky, a clear reflection of Meg's mood, and Cas sighs, reaching over to grab the marijuana from her, taking his own swig of it. 

"Dean's my best friend, Meg," he says quietly. "But he's more than that... he's family." 

Meg chokes out a bitter laugh. "I was going to be your wife." 

Dean rears back. He doesn't hear Cas's answer to that; he doesn't need to, because it doesn't fucking matter. 

_ I was going to be your wife.  _

Cas was  _ engaged  _ to her. He'd asked - or she'd asked, it didn't matter - and they were going to be married, and Cas hadn't told  _ Dean _ . 

And somehow, somewhere in between now and the time that Cas and Meg were together back in college, back when he was just snot-nosed high-school kid that Cas was too nice to ignore, Cas had chosen to leave her, had chosen his friendship with Dean over the woman he loved. 

Dean doesn't know how to process that. It's too much, he doesn't deserve that,  _ Jesus _ , he's fucked up another person's life, he's ruined Cas, Cas,  _ Cas -  _

He doesn't notice when he's backed up to the huge window in Meg's bedroom, but the last thing he sees is Cas pulling her in for a tight hug and that's it. 

Dean's falling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - John in a coma/vegetative state, Dean's self-recriminatory dialogue, slight Castiel/Meg.


	4. Hollow Corpses of the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the end of the chapter.

**Chapter 4**

The world is too big and Dean feels tiny as he falls, spiralling through the sky. He's strangely calm and he's not foolish enough to think it's because his mind is at peace. He's numb, his heart tight with all the things he's been holding back since Dad's accident - since Mom's death to be honest - and he closes his eyes as the wind whooshes past him.

This is it.

He's falling.

This is the end.

Cas and Meg will marry, as Charlie and Jo will. Given how much Sam seems to love Eileen, Dean has no doubt that that wedding will happen as well. Bobby and Ellen have each other.

Except for Dad, no one else _needs_ Dean. And Crowley was right - Dad's already gone, even if his body is still alive.

He supposes that he's always known that, but just didn't want to admit it. Because if Dad needs him, then Dean can put off his degree, he doesn't have to try something new or watch himself fail at one more thing... because it was easy, almost, to blame the lack of direction in his life on others - first Sam and his education, and then Dad and his  state.

And now... now it's too late.

The truth settles into Dean's bones and he heaves a sigh of relief. It's out of his hands - he's falling, he's done, he doesn't have to try anymore.

They're all going to be okay without him. He doesn't matter as much, not now, not ever again. As as much as it hurts, it's also freeing in a way, because he's hurtling down towards the ground and it's all _over -_

Something white swoops beneath him and Dean catches a glimpse of huge, snow-colored wings before he's thudding onto a powerful, familiar back. He stumbles, almost leaning over and falling off, before he rights himself and sits back carefully.

"Impala?" he murmurs.

An annoyed neigh is his only answer, and he tightens his knees around her sides. Wrapping his arms around her neck, he closes his eyes to the sound of her wings snapping on either side.

"You're a bloody idiot."

Her voice is exactly the same melodic whisper he's always imagined and he grins in response.

"I love you too," he pats her flank. "But you're - _wooooaaah!"_ he almost falls off again as she corkscrews through the air deliberately. He swallows hard, grateful that he'd skipped dinner from all the brooding he was doing. His stomach is doing somersaults and he can almost taste the bile on his tongue.

"Not a word from you," she warns. "Or I won't hesitate to throw you off."

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of whatever you're gonna show me?" he grunts. "Whatever lesson the stupid universe is trying to teach me?"

"The universe isn't trying to teach you any lesson, Dean," she says. "Only giving you what you need."

"Yes because I really need to see the many ways I've fucked up," he mutters.

"Well, if you know you've fucked up, why aren't you doing anything to fix it?" she retorts.

"What do you think I've been trying to do all this time?!" he says, incredulous. "Fixin' Dad, fixin' Sam's life-"

"So you weren't wallowing in self-pity tonight?" Impala says. "Or last week when Charlie called? Or the week before when you bailed on Ellen's dinner?"

Dean falls quiet, the response dying on his lips. Because yes, he _has_ been avoiding all of them, has been a complete and utter dick to the people who only ever wanted to help. He isn't alone, but he doesn't know how to process that he isn't alone.

The one time he let himself reach out and ask the universe for something, his Dad basically told him to stick where the sun don't shine. He doesn't know how to reach out a second time, because he's fucking terrified of what the answer is gonna be.

"It's not an ultimatum, Dean," Baby murmurs, turning around like she always does to nuzzle at his cheek. "Just because something went wrong once, it doesn't mean it always will."

"Stop readin' my brain," he says.

"Stop projecting, then," she snarks back. "You deserve good things, it's not wrong to want them for yourself."

"I wanted to go to fucking graduate school, and my old man went out and turned himself into a living corpse. Pretty sure that was my fault."

Impala's breath wafts across his face as she butts his chin in frustration. "Fine," she huffs, "If it was your fault, how you gonna make up for it?"

Dean looks away. "I should just disappear. Get my own place, away from Cas, focus on figuring out a way to bring Dad back."

"You just admitted that he's gone."

"Then I spend the rest of my days takin' care of him till he fucking dies," he snaps.

"Okay then," Impala turns back around. "If that's what you want, that's what you're gonna get."

"Wait, what, what-wooooah!" Dean almost falls off as she leans forward flaps her wings hard, flying them straight into the wind current. "Impala!"

She neighs, sounding almost angry, and the next thing he knows, they're floating right outside a window he _just_ fell out of.

"The hell?"

"Get in," Impala nudges him.

The doors of the window are open and the light, early morning breeze is whistling its merry way through the curtains across. Impala shrugs him off and Dean stumbles into the landing, barely managing to right himself before he hears the sound of a familiar voice.

"Hello, Meg."

_Cas._

Dean's heart leaps into his mouth as he watches his best friend bend down to kiss the dark-haired woman on the bed. She stretches out lazily, rubbing herself against him like a cat, and Cas huffs out a soft laugh, setting the tray he's carrying down on the nightstand.

"Morning, Clarence," she drawls. The comforter slips, and Dean has to avert his eyes because she's clearly naked beneath it. His gaze is drawn, instead, to the way the sunlight glints off of the ring on Cas's hand as the elder man palms his wife's face affectionately.

They're married - Cas is _married_ to her.

This... this is what he wanted, didn't he? To see his best friend happy, to not feel like he's fucking let him down again?

Then why the hell is his mouth feel like sandpaper? Why can’t he swallow the damn saliva in his throat?

"Made you breakfast," Cas breathes against her mouth.

"Aw, you're gettin' all sweet on me," Meg snarks. Her eyes are soft, though, and she pulls him down to her, rolling them over so that she's on top. "Let me say thank you," she bends down to kiss him.

Dean forces himself to look away, refusing to admit to the way his eyes linger on the hickeys on Meg's neck and back. Clearly, Cas marks his territory - how many times has Dean imagined him biting down on _Dean's_ neck? How many times has he come to that image behind his eyes?

"I don't wanna see this," he mutters. "I... Baby, I-" he whirls around, but Impala's nowhere to be seen. Behind him, he can hear Cas's soft whispers of adoration against Meg's more enthusiastic groans, and fuck, he can't do this, can't just stand here as the man he's been in love with his whole life makes love to his wife.

So he stomps out of there, refusing to look at them, refusing to admit to the way his breath shorts and his chest tightens, heading straight down the stairs. He's been to Meg's house a grand total of twice since Cas first met her in college, but he remembers it well enough to find his way into the kitchen. Evidence of Cas's cooking litters the counter - dirty dishes, leftover ingredients - and son of a bitch, it _hurts_.

Cas sucks at cooking. No matter how many times Ellen's tried to bully him into learning how to make food, he's never managed to learn. And yet, here he is, making his wife breakfast in bed, and it shouldn't make him want to throw up, but it does.

With a low growl, Dean strides out of the kitchen, back into the living room. He opens his mouth to call for Baby, to get him the fuck outta this shithole, when his eyes fall on it.

Cas's pipe. It’s an innocuous little thing, framed in glass and mounted on the mantelpiece, but it’s the core of  who he is, the thing that allows him to call to his Creatures - he never goes _anywhere_ without it.

"He doesn't practice any more."

Dean whirls around, glaring at Baby where she's leaning her head against the kitchen's doorway.

"What do you mean, he doesn't practice?" he snaps. "What happened to the menagerie?"

Theirs isn't a big practice, not yet. Dean's not been certified - he refuses to think about how he never will be now that he's not goin' to back to the Academy - and Cas has only a few Creatures that he looks after. But it's _theirs_ , dammit, and they've labored over each Vine, each Creature they've tended.

"Meg is not fond of the Creatures that Cas brings home," Impala says. "And their magics don't compliment each other as well as they should. So Cas decided to stop practicing."

For a sorcerer to marry someone when their magics don't mesh... that ain't pretty. It was one of the many reasons why Sam and Jess didn't work and why Cas and Dean _do_ \- their magics have been in harmony since the day they met.

"Dammit, Cas," he mutters, "The hell did you marry that witch?"

"Because he had nowhere else to go," Impala retorts. "After you threw him out."

"I... what?!"

"You wanted to disappear, Dean," she repeats. "Did you really think that would come without consequences?"

"I didn't... I wouldn't-" Dean fumbles. "This isn't what I meant!"

"You told him he couldn't stay. But it didn't stop there," Impala's voice is quiet and echoes around the massive fucking room. The back of Dean's neck prickles as he meets her eyes - they're a bright, vivid green, the same as his own, and he blinks in realization.

"What'd I do?" he whispers.

She doesn't answer, but then she doesn't need to.

"I have a séance tonight," Meg's voice booms behind them. "What're you doing today?"

Dean turns to find the couple ready and dressed for the day. The breakfast tray is floating behind them, and Cas waves his hand, directing it towards the kitchen. The tray zooms past Dean and he bends, barely avoiding collision as it dumps itself into the sink, the water coming on on its own.

"I...uh..." Dean's never heard Cas sound so uncertain.

"Clarence?"

Meg moves around the room, grabbing her purse. The logo of Witches Inc. winks up at Dean from the flap of her bag as she stuffs her crystal ball into it, and he remembers that she works for a Necromancy Company downtown.

"I'm meeting Inias for lunch," he says in a rush. "He has a new dragonling, wants me to take a look to make sure she's doing okay."

Meg's brow furrows. "You're meeting... Inias?" she says slowly. "Cas, you know I don't-"

"He's a _friend_ ," Cas stresses. "Nothing more. Am I not allowed to have friends now?"

"Like _Dean_ was just a friend?" Meg snaps.

"Goddamit, Meg! It's been years, I told you that I'm over it. Can we please get past it?"

"Sure," Meg's usually caustic voice is utterly flat. "I'm ready to, Clarence, I've _been_ ready to move the fuck on for the past decade."

"Then why are we fighting?" Cas gestures between them.

"Because you're not," Meg murmurs. She grabs him by the lapel of his shirt and entwines herself around him; the expression on her face is sad and twisted and Dean blinks. He doesn't think he's ever seen her be vulnerable.

"Meg," Cas whispers, "it's... I can't-"

"You sayin' you'd have _chosen_ me, Clarence?" she leans up to kiss him softly. "If Dean hadn't thrown you out, if it wasn't the anniversary of Bobby's death this week, if I hadn't nursed your addicted ass back to health... are you saying that you'd have picked me over him?"

Cas doesn't answer, but Dean's eyes are drawn to the way his hands tighten on Meg's hips.

"That's what I thought."

Meg disentangles herself from her husband's grip and walks to the cabinet next to the coat rack near the door. She pulls out a broom and mounts it, sitting her long, dark, pointed hat on her head.

"And Cas?" she hovers in the doorway, her voice soft, "For the record? I don't have a problem with you having friends, I have a problem with you associating with men who get high when you clearly have a substance abuse problem."

Before Castiel can respond, she zooms out the door, which slams shut behind her.

Dean can physically feel his stomach give away, feel the blood drain out of his face at the defeated, resigned expression on Cas's face.

 _The anniversary of Bobby's death,_ Meg's voice echoes in his head. _Substance abuse problem._

Bobby's dead. Cas is an addict.

Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell had he _done_?

Dean whirls around to glare at Impala, who's still watching him with those green, green eyes. "What the fuck is she talkin' about?"

Baby still doesn't answer, but she pads forward to head-butt Dean into turning back to Cas. His best friend has moved from the door to the cabinet, where he's pulling out his own broom and jumping on to it. Dean frowns; neither he nor Cas like brooms. Damn things are unstable as hell and make him nauseous, to boot. Impala is the only flying they have ever done and it's yet another reminder of how much the elder sorcerer seems to have changed that Dean does not like.

"Come on," Baby nudges him on cue, and he hesitantly climbs onto her back. They follow Cas out of the house, Dean's mind still burning with questions.

In an almost tragic parody of just a few memories ago, Cas flies them straight to the cemetery. Only, it's not Sam, it's Cas, and it's not Mom's grave they head to but Bobby's.

Bobby's _grave_.

Son of a fucking bitch.

Cas hops off the broom and it drops to the ground. Impala neighs to a stop right behind him, and Dean wants to get off of her, wants to squat right by his best friend's side, but his knees are too fucking jelly to do anything but tighten around his Creature's flank right now.

"Hi Bobby," Cas murmurs. "It's been a while." He reaches out to trace over the golden lettering on the grave and smiles at the lilies that lie on top of the stone. The flowers wilt from the bright, cheery yellow color they are into a melancholic, dull grey at Cas's touch and it doesn't take a degree in botany for Dean to know that he's depressed.

"I see Sam's been by," he says. “I’m sorry I haven’t… it’s just been hard.”

“Cas, man, what… I-”

“Next week is… three years?” Cas heaves a long, tired sigh. “Lord, it’s been three years.”

"Three years since Bobby...?" Dean can't even say it. Because this is _Bobby_ , the closest thing to a father he's ever had - Bobby, who convinced John to stop running. Bobby, who taught Dean everything he knows about Herbal Alchemy... Bobby, who took in five kids and loved 'em all like they were his own.

"I miss you," Cas whispers, as though he can sense Dean's inner turmoil. "So much. And I miss..." he sighs.

For a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, as though it's in search of something.

"I miss Dean, Bobby," Cas finally confesses. "I shouldn't. Meg's not wrong, you know. I hate him - I fucking hate him but..." he looks down, and Dean can't breathe, fuck, he can't, but Cas's face... "I love him. I can't stop. I want to... I've been trying for years, but I can't... and Meg..." The ugly laugh that bubbles out of Cas's throat grates on Dean's years. "Meg deserves so much better than I can give her."

"Cas, I'm sorry," Dean whispers. "Jesus, I ruined you - what the hell did I do to you?"

"You're dead because of him, Bobby," Cas continues. Of course he can't hear Dean. "You're dead. Ellen and Jo can barely look at Sam, much less mention his name. And I... I'm an addict."

 _Dean's_ the reason Bobby's dead. _He_ caused this - motherfucker, _how_?

"I've been in love with him for as long as I can remember," Cas murmurs, "Meg doesn't... I should leave her, let her find someone better... But I can't. I need her, Bobby. I need her, because I'm so fucking terrified that I'll go back to drowning myself in drugs. She's the one who pulled me and she's the only one I can hold on to. I need her..." He gets up, letting his hands fall to his sides, and stares up at the sky instead. "And still, I love _him_."

A soft sound that's a cross between a whimper and a sob escapes Cas's throat.

It's the look of utter misery that makes Dean's breath hitch. The sudden taste of blood in his mouth tells him he's bitten clean through his lip, but he doesn't care - he can't feel anything, his mind is numb, because fuck, Cas is _in_ love with him, has _been_ in love with him all this time, and somehow, Dean's gone and fucked it all up.

Bobby's dead because of him, Cas fell into drugs because of him, and Ellen and Jo won't even speak to Sam because of him. He wonders sardonically where he actually is in this scenario - is he around? Did he run like Dad did? After everything he's done, he just... _vanished?_

"Breathe, Dean," Impala tells him. "In and out, come on." It takes Baby's nuzzle into his skin, the soft feel of her wings and mane to bring him back to himself. He takes a shuddering, hard breath, filling his lungs with air, but it feels like ash, dead and murdered - like Bobby is.

"I _killed_ him," Dean shakes against her, " _I_ killed him. How?"

"Come on," Baby flaps her wings and suddenly, they're no longer in the cemetery but in an unfamiliar house. Dean holds onto her tightly, grasping his fingers in her mane like he used to back when he was a teenager and Bobby was teaching him to ride her. She neighs in comfort and nudges him off of her.

"Where are we?" he mumbles. His movements are jerky and he can barely stand up straight, and he leans on her for support as she beats her wing lightly on his back.

"You can't tell?" she asks.

Dean looks around; the living room they're standing in is homey and classy. The couch looks similar to their own back in their apartment, the carpet is soft, and he can recognize most of the titles that line the walls. Curious, he walks over, throat tightening, when a small, squeaky voice interrupts him.

"I need to finish cataloguing, I do," the Hermione bobble-head mutters in an irritated manner as she drags two fat books across the wood. "Merlin's pants, why can't Mistress ever put the books back in order?"

Dean whirls back around to see Impala observing him with that all-knowing, green gaze of hers again. "Is this... this isn't-"

"I'm know I'm a library imp, but I can't do everything by myself!" she huffs, snapping the book into its place. On closer inspection, Dean sees that it's one of the copies from the box set of Harry Potter that he gifted Charlie. She already had all of them, of course, but she'd still squealed loud enough for it to hurt. It cost him an entire fucking paycheck, given that it's been spelled to have projected text, along with a number of other features like being able to float in the air, being waterproof and all that other jazz that most magical tomes come with. But Dean didn't hesitate when he found the hardcover set - it was _Charlie_.

"Cursin' me out, H?" comes her amused voice. Dean turns around to see the redhead winking at her imp. His throat tightens; she's cut her hair sometime in the past three years and it bobs around her head, making her look like a badass elf.

"Well, it's not my fault," Hermione replies. "I've been trying to get these books back into their places, but _someone_ refuses to use the system she spent so much time designing."

Charlie shrugs. "Blah, blah, I thought that's why I enchanted you into working for me? You never complained about it before."

"Yes, well I'm a single imp now, aren't I?" Hermione snaps. "Had help then, now I have to do it all by myself."

There is a pointed silence that echoes around the room. Dean's eyes are drawn to the way Charlie's expression falls. Her small shoulders stiffen and there's a kind of despair there he hasn't ever seen before.

"Oh fuck," Hermione swears. She ambles up to the end of the shelf and then jumps off, landing on two tiny-ass feet, looking funny as hell. She trots over to where Charlie's melted into the couch and climbs up, settling herself on the redhead's tummy.

"Sorry, C," she says in a cute, low voice. Charlie offers her a wan smile. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," her mistress replies. "Just... I should be over it already, it's been almost a year."

The bobblehead-imp snuggled under Charlie's chin. It's such a familiar sight that Dean barely even registers it; he's seen his pseudo-sister cuddle her weird little enchanted bobble-heads-slash-imps more times than he can count. What is surprising, however, is the way she closes her eyes and sighs in defeat.

"You and Jo were together for more than a decade, C," Hermoine comforts. "You were engaged. You set a damned date and you were discussing kids. You need to give yourself time to get over it."

"I know. I just..." Charlie shrugs. She scratches Hermione's head and the imp leans into her touch. "I'm sorry you lost your friend because Jo took Ron back. You maybe just my bobblehead turned into a library imp, but you still deserve a friend."

"It's okay. I still have you," Hermione says. She leans tiny palms against Charlie's neck and begins to tickle her and the sight should be objectively fucking hilarious, but Dean can't care because his heart is in his throat and his brain is jumping a mile a minute.

Charlie isn't with Jo anymore. Charlie and Jo broke up.

_I'm gonna marry her someday, Dean._

"I saw them get engaged barely an hour ago," he snarls, whirling around on one foot to glare at Baby. "The hell happened?"

"Bobby died," she answers. "Ellen and Jo blamed you, Charlie didn't."

"But, but-" Dean flounders, "It's..." he turns back to where the redhead is giggling helplessly now, levitating a shrieking imp into the air before her. He notices it now, the conspicuous lack of ring on her finger, and it hurts.

Fuck, but they were supposed to have a _happy_ ending - both Charlie and Jo and Meg and Cas were. He's the reason their lives are fucked up, but without him...

Are things really better without him?

"But what did I _do_?" Dean whispers brokenly. "What'd... how did Bobby die? How did I kill him?" he looks up at Impala's familiar, horsey face and for some reason, it feels like he's looking into a mirror. "Where am... where am I?" he waves his hand around, gesturing at the whole space, the whole fucking world.

Because he needs to know dammit - did he run? Did he die?

Or... a niggling suspicion is biting at the corner of his mind and he's terrified, but he needs to know.

"I need... Baby, I-" he croaks.

Impala trots forward and bumps her head against his chin the same way she always does. "Get on," she murmurs. "There's one more thing you need to see."

Too tired and emotionally exhausted to argue - because he wants to lean in and comfort Charlie... it's _Charlie_ , dammit - he just does as she asks, leaning against her mane and trusting her to take him where he has to go. The beats of her wings by his sides are soothing; he spent all his teen years tending to her and learning how to ride her from Bobby.

Bobby... who's _gone_ now.

"I really screwed up this time, didn't I?" his voice is lost in the long hairs of her mane, but she leans back into his touch anyway. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against her, feeling each push and pull of her muscle. For long, quiet moments, he's aware only of Impala and the way she moves; it's a clear sign, and maybe it's something he's always known but never really accepted because it's a commitment that was terrifying.

Impala is his Familiar. Just as Baz is Cas's. And he's been runnin' from it because a Familiar would mean he'd have to apprentice himself to an actual ArchMage and complete his thesis.

"Dean."

It takes him a moment to realize that they've stopped moving. Dean's eyes flutter open to the sight of a well-known bedroom and he snorts out an acrid laugh.

It makes sense, they'd end up here. Where else would he be?

His bedroom looks exactly like he left it after his conversation with Sam. The magic mirror lies in the corner, untended, and the bed is unmade. His shoes are lying haphazardly on the floor, socks floating in the air from the static, and the windows are thrown open so a chilly breeze is blowing its way into the house.

But it's the golden ring on the bed that his eyes are drawn to. The tracker lies innocently on the nest of splayed out blankets, in the middle of the bed, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why it's there. He's seen that device before - he stood outside the apothecary just this week, staring at what would cost essentially three months' of both his and Cas's paychecks put together.

Impala's eyes are sad as she watches him stomp out of the room and down the hall. Dean ignores her, heart beating fast, because Jesus fucking Christ, this is exactly what he was afraid of, what he _didn't_ want -

"Hey Dad."

His own voice floats out of what used to be Cas's room. It's a hard, cold sound, one that he's only ever used against himself while glaring into the bathroom mirror, and it hurts to hear now.

"So, I got shit to do today. Takin' a bunch of the Vines to the nursery today. If you need me, I got my tracker on me."

There's a moment of silence, and Dean pauses for maybe a moment before his legs are moving forward of their own accord. He pushes into the room to see himself, hair buzzed in a crew cut, features arranged into an angry expression, and his fists clenching and unclenching.

"I can't," he fumbles, "Fuck, baby, I didn't- this isn't what I wanted- I didn't-" he turns back to the door, but Impala isn't there, and he's just stuck here, stuck with this future version of himself that is more messed up than he ever thought he'd be. He has no choice but to turn around and watch as the elder Dean reaches out to roughly yank at the golden band on John’s arm that matches the tracker in his hands. Number float in the air right above them - Dad’s vitals! - and future Dean writes them down carefully.

Dean doesn't have to be a genius to see the resentment radiate off of himself. Elder Dean is caring for his dad, doesn't once complain through the entire process of cleanin' up Dad's still form, givin' him a sponge bath and then dressin' him back up. Through it all, Dad lies lifeless, like he's stuck in some kind of eternal sleep - Dean can see the way his chest moves up and down with each breath he takes, but that's about it.

And it's that, more than anything else, that convinces Dean that Dad's gone. As a Herbal Alchemist, he knows better than to take living things at face value - none of his Vines _look_ alive, but he's felt more life in them that he sees in Dad right now.

 _This_ is what he gave up his life for? This is why the elder version of himself isolated himself from everything and everyone?

"Well, there you go, Dad," future Dean sets down his wand. A loud crack echoes around the room as he stretches his spine and Dean can't help but wince in sympathy. His other self straightens up and strides out of the room and he follows - there was no goodbye, no tenderness in the way he looked after Dad.

Because he's not doing it out of love, he sees that clearly now; his elder self is going through the motions out of a twisted sense of obligation. But then, that's always been his problem, hasn't it? That sense of duty he carries around toward Mom and Dad, the idealization of the two of them, when Mom needed Calming Potions to deal with him and when Dad yelled at him for choosing the Academy over staying back and running the small menagerie.

Future Dean stomps downstairs and settles himself at the table in the kitchen with a grunt. He waves his wand and the plates float over, the table setting itself for a quick breakfast.

But there's no poop-mug to accompany his vine-covered one and the food is plain toast and cheese, something he himself would never eat - because he'll never admit that he likes cooking, but with Cas around, he can justify early morning fluffy pancakes and bacon.

His breath is coming in wheezes and Dean closes his eyes against the hotness of the wet tears. His future self doesn't react and the sound of toast crunching is broken only by the random sips of juice he takes and Jesus fucking Christ, this _hurts_ . Because he _chose_ this, somehow, and it's his own damn fault that Cas isn't glaring at him from across the table for chewing too loudly.

A firefly flutters into the vicinity and Dean blinks - who's sending him a message _now_? The thing floats over to his elder self, who glares it down, rolling his eyes. The firefly sits down on the table and its wings flap in an irritated manner, before Sam's voice echoes around the kitchen.

"Dean," he says. "Bobby's anniversary is in a couple days. Eileen and Charlie and I are havin' dinner together. You should come join us, man."

There's a moment's pause, as though Sam wants to say something else, but isn't, before he finally sighs and continues.

"Eileen's pregnant," his voice is soft. "You're gonna be an uncle and I'mma be a dad... it's fucking unreal. I need you there, Dean. Please."

"It's been three years... I want to visit Bobby with you this time. And I wanna tell him about his grandkid," Sam chuckles tiredly, "Can you imagine his face? He'd love bein'a  grandpa, but he won't ever admit it. Jesus... I miss him. I miss _you_. I wish my kid coulda gotten to know his grandpa."

"Grandpa's still here, Sam," Dean's elder self grunts, but his voice is as cold and empty as his face his is.

Unheeded, Sam continues, "But they can't... they can get to know their uncle, Dean. Please. I know you think you gotta punish yourself for fightin' with Bobby that night, but his heart attack wasn't your fault. You were angry and said shit you don't mean - you gotta move on, man. I need you."

The firefly's wings go from their bright crimson to the their normal everyday hue, indicating that the message has been delivered. Future Dean doesn't say anything as it leans forward, wings fluttering in anticipation of a message. When he remains quiet, the firefly huffs and then flutters back out, seeming almost disapproving of the lack of response.

"Can't Sammy," his elder self finally whispers when he's alone. Well, as alone as he can be with an invisible Dean in the room, watching. "I... can't." His expression finally breaks, and Dean should be shocked by the tears he sees running openly down his face, but he isn't. "It's my fault. It's all..." He takes a gasping, shuddering breath, before closing his eyes and getting to his feet. The half-eaten toast lies forgotten on the plate as he walks up to the couch and curls up there, sobbing.

"I..." Dean flounders. "I don't... I can't-"

"Bobby tried," Impala suddenly reappears behind him. "To get you to head back to the Academy. You fought, the same as you and John fought. Only, Bobby had a heart attack in front of you."

"I... what'd I say to him?" Dean whispers.

"Dean-"

"I told him he ain't my Dad, didn't I?" he interrupts. "That he can shove his concern where the sun don't shine? That he ain't runnin' my life?"

Because it hasn't happened to him yet, but he can already see it in his head. He knows himself - knows _exactly_ what the version of himself sobbing on the couch would say - and he knows _Bobby_. He knows where to hit so it hurts.

"You did," Impala confirms. "And Bobby collapsed."

"I didn't do everything I could to save him?"

"Of course you did," Impala says. "But..."

"It wasn't enough," Dean says bitterly. "Of course."

She headbutts him and pushes him back to Cas's room - _Dad's_ room - leaving behind his elder self on the couch. Dean doesn't protest, and a moment later, they're standing over Dad's still form, staring down at him.

"I..."

"You've spent your whole life looking after others," Impala says. "When Bobby died, you decided you would find a way to bring your Dad back. And you threw Cas out."

"I've been fucking doing penance," Dean snorts. "Son of a..." he runs his hand through his hair, "Cas became a junkie, Charlie and Jo broke up and I ruined Sammy's life too." His throat tightens. "Dammit, 'pala, this wasn't what I meant when I said I wanted to vanish."

"You did vanish, Dean," she mutters. "Just not the way you wanted to. You exiled yourself into looking after one father for losing the other. And you're no longer a part of their lives, the others."

"They were supposed to get along fine without me!" he snaps.

Impala levels him with a knowing look. It's too much - seeing his own gaze reflected back at him, so he turns away, sniffling slightly.

"No one is telling you how to process your grief," she says. "But it's okay to ask for help, Dean." A warm breath wafts over his neck before a heavy, horse head is draping itself over his shoulder. "You're human. Sam needs you, Cas needs you and everyone else needs you - just like you need them."

"I..."

"And it's okay to have dreams for yourself," she continues. "You're allowed to want things for yourself. You're allowed to be your own person."

And that's the crux of it, ain't it? His elder version is here, doing penance because of Dad and Bobby; he himself has been stuck, paying for what Dad did. It wasn't _Dean's_ fault Dad decided to be the asshole who got drunk and just... wasn’t, anymore. It wasn't _Dean's_ fault that Mom died, it wasn't Dean's fault that he's spent his whole life trying to care for Sam, even amidst the terror that Sam would leave Dean because Dean can't leave Dad on his own.

He was right, in a way. He and Sam aren't a part of one another's lives any longer. Only _he's_ the one who's done the leaving, apparently, while his little brother is still waiting for him.

How the hell did it come to this?

 _Go,_ Dean, he hears Dad's voice in his head. _Go and be your own fucking person, not like we need you!_

What would it have been if Dad's voice had been softer? If he said, _Go and be your own person and I'm proud of you_ instead?

A rasping, ugly sob bubbles out of his own throat, and Dean finally, _finally_ admits to himself that yes, he's fucking angry - he's _been_ angry all this time... with Dad, for being the son of a gun who chose his wife's ghost over his two live sons. With Mom, for dying in the first place, with Bobby and Ellen for being able to take their place, with Cas for being so fucking perfect and so out of reach, with Sam even, for being with Eileen and having his whole life figured out.

Because the _one_ time Dean dared to reach out and take what he wanted, Dad threw it back in his face. And then he just... stopped.

"Pala," he sobs, "I... I can't... Dad, you fucking son of a gun."

Dad's right _here_ , in front of him, looking sad and pathetic and everything he was when he was alive, and Dean just... he can't. He wants to yank the armband off, but he wants Dad back, for once to look at his son and see his _son_ , not his dead wife's remnants, to tell him he's proud of him.

_I'm proud of ya, kid._

Bobby's voice echoes in his head.

_I'm gonna marry her someday._

_I'm in love with him._

_I need you, man._

_I was gonna ask Dean to come ring shopping._

Bobby... Ellen and Jo and Charlie. Sam. Cas.

"Baby, I-I need," he gasps, "Please, I don't... not this," he waves a shaking hand over the room, "Please, take me back... I need..."

He wants to go home. He wants Cas, wants to tell him how bloody much he loves him. He wants to go ring-shopping with Charlie, wants to be involved in his niece or nephew's lives, wants to walk into Ellen's kitchen and have her whack his arm in fond exasperation, wants to see Bobby and reassure himself that he's alive.

Because this can't - _won't_ be his future. He won't fucking let it.

"I need you," he whispers to his Familiar, reaching for her mane.

The last thing he remembers is Impala's eyes growing a vivid, burning green. And then it all goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - slight suicide ideation, Dean's internal dialogue, End!Verse Dean, slight End!Verse Cas.


	5. Chapter 5

**Epilogue**

"Are you sure you want to do this?" 

Dean looks up to see a worried Cas glaring at him from the doorway. He finds his lips curving into a soft smile at the sight of the elder man and motions for him to join him. 

"It's good, Cas," he says. "It's about time. Where's Sam?"

"One of the healers flagged Eileen down," Cas replies, walking inside. "His son was diagnosed with hearing loss, he wanted details on how to get them started on ASL." He pauses, eyeing Dean critically, before moving closer. "You don't have to do this." 

The corner of Dean's lips curve up in a small smile as he takes Cas's hand and twines their fingers together. It's still makes his heart race, being able to actually  _ do  _ this now. 

Over six weeks since Cas woke him up on the couch, freaked about the fact that he took the wrong potion - since he grabbed his best friend and smashed their mouths together, whispering breathlessly into his ear about how much he fucking loved him - and it still amazes him that he's allowed to touch Cas, allowed to pull him close. 

"I do," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over the shell of Cas's ear. "I can't..." he looks down at Dad's still, floating form, and sees another John Winchester lying there, years from now. "I have to let him go, Cas. I shoulda done it ages ago." 

Cas palms his face and leans up to rest their foreheads together. "You're sure?" he asks. 

Dean bumps their noses together and chuckles at the way Cas scrunches his face up. "I am," he admits. "Sam agrees. I've let Dad dictate my life far too long. It's time I stopped livin' the life he wanted me to and started focusin' on the things important to me." 

Cas's arms come circle his neck. "And what might that be, Mr. Winchester?" he mutters. 

Dean smirks, bending down to brush their lips together, a lingering tease of a kiss, before answering honestly, "You. Sam and Eileen. Bobby and Ellen, Charlie and Jo. Our menagerie." 

"And your degree," Cas reminds him gently. "You promised."

"And my degree," Dean hums in agreement. "If you're still okay with movin' towns to live wimme." 

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't, Dean," Cas says. 

"We've been together for just a few weeks, Cas," Dean points out. "Forgive me if I don't wanna rush into cohabitation." 

"Tell that to someone who hasn't washed your underwear," Cas retorts, pulling back. "We've been 'cohabiting'," Dean snorts at the air-quotes,  _ God _ , his boyfriend is such a literal dork, "For years now, I don't see how anything changes." 

"'Xcept," Dean breathes, yanking him back in, "I can do this now." He bends down to mouth at Cas's neck, squeezing the tight globes of his ass at the same time. Cas leans into the touch like a cat, rubbing himself against Dean in a suggestive manner, when an annoyed groan interrupts them from behind. 

"Seriously, guys?!" 

They break apart to see Sam glaring at them from the doorway, a smirking Eileen next to him. 

"Right here?" Sam snaps, "In the hospital?! In front of...?!" he waves his hand at Dad's still form and Dean smirks in response. 

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Samantha," he says. "We reserve the right to be grossly cute and adorable." 

Sam makes a face. "Go be grossly cute and adorable at home," he says. "You're embarrassing, man." 

Eileen rolls her eyes and smacks his chest with the back of her hand.  _ Don't be mean, _ she signs, before turning to Dean and holding her arms out for a hug. 

He doesn't hesitate - it's new, this whole showing affection thing, but it's nice. He's not used to hugging anyone who ain't Charlie or Jo or occasionally Ellen, but it feels good and he likes it. 

"Ignore him," she says when they pull back, turning to give Cas his hug. "He's just being a wet blanket." 

"I thought you were on my side," Sam grumps. 

"Don't be a little bitch, Sam," Dean quips. 

"Fuck off, jerk," Sam retorts.

The easy smile fades from both their faces as they turn to look at John, floating without a care in the world. His eyes are closed and his expression is more peaceful than Dean can ever remember it being in real life, and he feels the conviction settle into his bones. 

"Dean?" Sam says. "You're sure?" 

It's the same tone he used back when they were kids and he'd had a nightmare and climbed into bed with his big brother. Dean does the same thing now as he did then - he bumps shoulders with Sam and ruffles his hair, smirking at Sam's yelp. 

"Hey, lay off the hair, dude!" he glares at Dean, and neither of them will admit it, but that brotherly camaraderie and teasing gives them the strength to do what they gotta. 

"Gonna have to cut it someday, Rapunzel," he retorts. He looks down at Dad and then smiles. "And yes, I'm sure." 

"I'll go get Healer Missouri," Eileen says softly. 

"We still headin' out for lunch after?" Sam asks, watching his girlfriend head down the corridor. 

"Yeah," Cas nods. "But we might have to leave early, Dean has a meeting with ArchMage Cain." 

Dean flushes at the hint of pride in Cas's voice. 

"He agreed to supervise your thesis?!" Sam exclaims. "Dean, he's one of the most acclaimed Herbal Alchemists in the field!" 

Before the elder Winchester can say anything else, he's got an armful of moose-limbs enveloping him and he grunts, allowing himself one long moment of reveling in Sam's embrace before gently pushing him off. 

"Dunno if he's okay wimme bein' his apprentice yet, just meetin' with him today," Dean says, voice gruff. "Don't go gettin' all excited." 

Sam's smile is proud. "You will," he says confidently. "There was a reason they accepted your application. You're good, Dean, and ArchMage Cain will be able to see it." 

"You're only sayin' that 'cuz you sent it without telling me, Sammy," Dean says. "I don't-"

"He's telling you," Cas interrupts, "Because he put your application together. Which means he knows how good you are." 

"Exactly," Sam hums. "Thanks, Cas." 

"Ugh, lay off, assholes," Dean rolls his eyes. "Stupid nerds." But it feels good, this validation, so he allows Cas to wrap an arm around his waist and hold him up as Eileen leads Healer Missouri back into the room. The dark-skinned woman putters about, fixing the last few details, while Eileen moves back to Sam's side, tucking herself under his arm. 

And it's that sight - of Sam, with the woman Dean knows he's gonna probably marry someday, happy and healthy - that gives Dean the strength to step forward and place a hand on Dad's chest. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "But I gotta let you go." 

It's almost anti-climatic, the way the movement of Dad's chest begins to slow down the second Missouri disconnects the armband. Dean steps back, allowing Sam to say his own farewells. A moment later, Missouri checks Dad's pulse and then looks up with a quiet shake of her head. 

"Oh honey," she murmurs, "I'm sorry for your loss." 

It's Dean's turn to shake his head. "Thank you," he says. The old woman pats his arm and stalks out, leaving them all together in sombre silence. 

"Charlie called," Cas is the one to break it. "She wants to go ring-shopping for Jo."

"Seriously?!" Sam squeals like a little girl. "That's gonna be so great!" 

"Sam, they announced their engagement weeks ago," Eileen says. "How are you still excited by this?" 

"How are you not?" he pouts. 

And Dean can't help but laugh - because this... this is  _ exactly  _ what he wanted for himself but was too fucking terrified to take. 

"Cuz we ain't all preteen girls, Sammy," he chuckles. 

"Shut up, Dean," his brother grumbles. Eileen pats his arm comfortingly, but her grip is gently as she leads them out of the room. 

Dean makes to follow, but Cas's grip on his hands pulls him back. 

"Are you alright?" his oldest, best friend - and now, lover - asks. 

He smiles, pulling him close. He bends down and brushes his lips against Cas, once, twice, thrice before pulling back and offering him a quiet nod. 

"I'm good, Cas," he murmurs. "I promise." 

Cas's brow furrows. "You know I love you, right?" he says, and Dean knows he's resisting the urge to glare back at John Winchester's now-dead body. 

"I do," he whispers. "Love you too, you damn dork."

"Dean! Cas!" Sam's yell floats down the hallway. "Stop neckin', we gotta go! Bobby and Ellen are gonna be here soon with the girls!" 

Dean laughs, pulling back. His heart twinges as he turns to look his fill of his Dad one last time. And then, deliberately, he turns around and leads his partner out of the room. 

It's a new beginning. 

**Author's Note:**

> And that's a wrap, tell us how we did, folks!


End file.
